il 


LOST  ENDEAVOUR 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  •    BOSTON  •   CHICAGO  •   DALLAS 

ATLANTA  •   SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY   •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


LOST  ENDEAVOUR 


BY 

JOHN  MASEFIELD 

Author  of  "Captain  Margaret,"  "Multitude  and 
Solitude,"  "The  Everlasting  Mercy,"  etc. 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1917 


TO 

c 


•  •  .  •  •  • 

•  •      * 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

PAET  FIEST. 
Chaeles  Harding's   Story 5 


PART  seco:n'd. 

Little  Theo's  Story 103 

PAET  THIED. 
Charles  Harding's   Story 211 


.  ■  V 


PART  FIRST 
CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY 


LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

PART  FIRST 
CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY 


I  GOT  my  learning,  such  as  it  is,  from  Dr.  Carter, 
who  kept  an  Academy  for  the  Sons  of  Gentle- 
men, in  a  great  old  haunted  house  which  stood  at 
that  time  (1690)  near  the  coach  road  to  Shooter's  Hill, 
on  the  southern  border  of  Black  Heath.  Dr.  Carter 
was  one  of  the  old  school,  "  birch  and  bottle  men  "  I 
think  they  called  them,  because  they  flogged  without 
mercy,  and  drank  port  wine  without  stint ;  but  he  knew 
a  great  deal  of  Greek,  they  say,  and  he  was  always  very 
good  to  me,  so  his  faults  may  rest.  His  house,  at  one  time, 
long  before  he  came  there,  was  one  of  the  old,  bad  coach- 
ing inns.  The  cellar  was  said  to  be  full  of  secret  rooms, 
where  the  conspirators  used  to  meet  in  the  time  of  the 
Powder  Plot.  And  we  boys  always  heard  that  from 
somewhere  in  the  cellar  one  could  get  into  those  secret 
passages,  cut  under  the  gi'ound,  which  run  all  across 
Greenwich,  and  away  south  to  Chislehurst,  like  the 
workings  of  great  moles.  I  went  down  into  the  cel- 
lars one  night,  I  remember,  with  a  boy  called  Thomas 

3 


4  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

Davies,  but  we  could  find  no  secret  passages.  They 
were  ghostly,  damp,  vaulty  pierces  those  cellars,  full  of 
empty  barrels,  and  a  melancholy  noise  of  dripping; 
I  think  the  rats  must  have  gone  melancholy  mad  there. 
Old  Carter  came  down  for  a  bottle  of  port  while  we 
were  there ;  so  that  we  had  to  blow  out  our  candle,  and 
creep  back  to  bed  in  the  dark.  We  never  went  down 
again  because,  not  long  afterwards,  they  found  a  skele- 
ton buried  under  a  heap  of  rubbish  in  one  of  the  darker 
comers.  He  was  supposed  to  have  been  a  traveller 
who  had  been  murdered  for  his  money  in  the  old  inn 
days,  long  before.  I  saw  the  skeleton  when  they  brought 
it  up  into  the  light.  It  put  us  all  in  awe  of  that  cellar, 
you  may  be  sure.  Who  the  traveller  was,  who  can  tell  ? 
There  was  nothing  to  show.  The  Doctor  said  that  it 
was  the  skeleton  of  a  man  of  about  fifty  —  a  black- 
haired,  well-built  man,  used  to  taking  tobacco,  and 
perhaps  limping  on  his  left  leg,  the  bone  of  which  had 
been  broken  and  rather  clumsily  set.  It  was  thought 
that  he  had  lain  there  for  seventy  or  eighty  years. 
Whoever  he  may  have  been,  his  people  had  long  done 
sorrowing  for  him.  It  made  a  little  stir  at  the  time. 
One  old  man  came  from  Charlton  to  say  that  in  his 
father's  time  the  house  had  had  a  gallows  bad  name, 
and  that  it  had  been  kept  by  a  man  called  Taylor,  who 
was  afterwards  hanged  for  horse-stealing.  One  of  our 
boys  made  up  a  story  of  a  limping  ghost  (with  long 
black  hair),  who  appeared  to  him  night  after  night, 
beckoning  him  to  follow,  as  though  to  reveal  where  his 
treasure  had  been  buried.     He  scared  us  all  finely  with 


CHAELES  HAKDING'S  STORY  5 

this  tale;  but  some  of  our  boldest  spirits  sat  up  one 
night  to  watch  for  the  ghost,  and  old  Carter  caught  us, 
and  soundly  birched  the  lot  of  us  for  not  being  in  bed. 


II 

I  had  been  at  old  Carter's  for  about  three  years  when 
my  misfortune  came  to  me.  I  was  then  a  lad  of  four- 
teen, rather  lanky  and  overgrown,  but  still  sturdy  and 
comely.  I  was  a  steady  boy  on  the  whole,  though 
rather  a  noisy  one,  and  old  Carter  had  a  fondness  for 
me,  which  proved  my  ruin  in  the  end,  as  you  shall  hear. 
Every  Friday  afternoon,  winter  and  summer,  he  used 
to  send  in  to  Deptford  for  his  week's  allowance  of 
snuff.  Generally,  he  sent  the  school-porter;  but  if  the 
porter  were  busy,  he  would  make  some  excuse  to  send 
one  of  the  boys.  He  did  this  shamefacedly,  as  though 
he  thought  it  wrong  to  ask  any  boy  to  go  upon  an  er- 
rand for  him.  He  would  bid  his  messenger  to  go  to  the 
Deptford  sweetstuff  shop  to  buy  cookies  for  supper, 
and  ask  him,  as  an  afterthought,  to  call  for  his  parcel 
at  the  druggist's,  or  at  the  Boscobel  coffee-house,  which- 
ever it  might  be,  on  his  way  home.  The  boys  liked  this 
going  to  Deptford ;  for  at  other  times  Deptford  was  out 
of  bounds  to  us.  The  messengers  sometimes  escaped 
afternoon  school,  which  was  another  pleasure  to  them. 
In  any  case,  even  if  they  had  no  money  for  cookies, 
they  always  had  the  delights  of  Deptford  streets  to 
recompense  them  for  the  trouble  of  their  walk. 


6  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

I  had  fetched  old  Carter's  snuff  half  a  dozen  times 
before  my  troubles  began.  I  liked  the  business  very 
well,  for  Deptford  streets  were  amusing  in  those  days, 
when  the  naval  docks  were  there.  The  river  used  to 
be  full  of  shipping.  The  docks  and  building  slips  were 
full,  too.  It  was  one  of  the  gayest,  brightest  sights  in 
the  world  that  little  naval  station.  The  ships  with 
their  flags  and  their  scarlet  gun-ports  (all  triced  up  in 
a  line  above  the  brass  gun-muzzles),  made  a  fair  show 
from  the  river  bank.  And  then  to  see  a  great  ship 
coming  up  under  sail,  firing  her  guns  to  salute  the  flag, 
and  all  the  other  ships  firing,  or  dipping  their  colours, 
moved  one  to  the  bone.  There  were  sailors  everywhere 
in  Deptford,  at  all  times;  mostly  men-of-war's  men; 
but  you  must  not  think  that  I  sought  their  company. 
In  those  days  one  shunned  a  sailor,  as  a  sort  of  rough 
bear  without  a  soul,  who  had  somehow  escaped  hang- 
ing. Afterwards,  when  I  came  to  mix  with  sailors,  I 
found  that  people  were  right  about  them.  They  were 
a  hard  and  vicious  company,  with  a  few  good  among 
them,  but  not  many.  Most  of  them  were  turned  out 
of  the  gaols  to  serve  in  the  fleet.  Some  of  them  were 
branded.  Some  of  them  had  been  under  sentence  of 
death.  Some  of  them  were  deserters  from  other  navies. 
The  few  allowed  free  in  Deptford  were  old  men,  whose 
toughness  had  raised  them  to  warrants,  and  to  some 
little  responsibility  in  the  hulks  or  arsenal. 

Now  a  little  while  before  my  tale  begins,  old  Carter 
took  in  a  new  assistant  to  teach  modern  languages.  This 
assistant  was  a  young  man,  aged  about  twenty-three. 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  7 

Spanish  hj  birth,  French  by  education,  and  English 
by  choice  —  a  mixture  of  three  good  things.  His  name 
was  Teodoro  Mora.  Most  English  boys  delight  in 
teasing  their  foreign  masters;  but  there  was  no  teas- 
ing Teodoro.  He  was  the  strictest  master  in  the  school, 
and  in  many  ways  one  of  the  best.  He  had  travelled  a 
great  deal  for  a  man  of  that  rustic  age.  He  had  been 
in  the  Canary  Islands,  and  knew  a  lot  about  ships.  He 
once  told  us  that  he  understood  navigation,  and  could 
take  a  ship  round  the  world.  He  was  a  man  of  very 
great  physical  strength,  not  tall  exactly,  but  bigly 
made.  We  called  him  Little  Theo  among  ourselves. 
I  think  that  in  some  way  he  gave  us  the  impression 
that  there  was  a  mystery  about  him.  I  know  that  in 
dormitory,  when  we  discussed  our  masters,  we  made 
up  romantic  tales  about  him,  instead  of  passing  criti- 
cisms, as  we  did  upon  the  others.  One  of  us  would  say 
that  perhaps  he  was  the  son  of  a  Spanish  duke,  exiled  for 
making  love  to  a  princess;  and  then  that  he  was  a 
criminal,  a  romantic  criminal,  a  political  criminal  — 
a  conspirator  or  the  like ;  another  that  he  was  a  spy  in 
Erench  pay,  sent  over  to  report  on  the  N'avy  Yard,  or, 
possibly,  to  creep  out  one  night  and  fire  it.  I  don't 
think  we  believed  this  last,  quite.  If  we  did,  we  had 
some  sneaking  feeling  that  it  did  him  credit,  as  a  brave, 
romantic  man;  and  although  we  hoped  that  he  would 
not  burn  the  N"avy  Yard,  we  hoped  that,  if  he  did,  he 
would  get  away,  and  not  get  himself  hanged.  I  shall 
come  back  to  Little  Theo  later  in  my  tale.  I  need  only 
say  at  present  that  he  was  a  fine,  handsome,  bustling 


8  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

figure  of  a  man,  smart  at  his  work,  an  excellent  teacher, 
and  a  good  friend  to  boys  in  trouble.  He  gave  us  all 
the  impression  that  he  was  a  man  of  too  much  talent  to 
be  a  teacher  all  his  life. 

One  Friday,  in  March,  1692,  old  Carter  sent  me 
off  to  Deptford  for  his  snuff,  with  the  excuse  that  I 
looked  pale,  and  in  need  of  a  walk.  "  The  east  wind 
will  do  you  good,  boy,"  he  said.  He  called  me  back 
after  I  had  started.  "  Boy,"  he  said,  "  I  would  send 
the  porter,  but  the  press-gangs  are  out  all  along  the 
river,  and  if  a  man  enters  Deptford  he  is  as  good  as 
pressed.  They  won't  touch  you,  of  course,  but  I'll  give 
you  a  Protection,  in  case  you  should  be  questioned." 
He  fumbled  in  his  pockets,  and  at  last  produced  some 
sealed  envelopes,  one  of  which  he  gave  to  me.  "  That 
is  a  Protection,"  he  said.  "  You  show  that  if  anybody 
lays  hands  upon  you.  Be  back  early,  because  Deptford 
after  dark  is  no  place  for  a  boy."  He  thrust  his  hands 
behind  his  coat-skirts,  and  gave  the  peculiar  throaty 
snort  with  which  he  always  ended  a  conversation.  I 
saw  him  going  across  the  lawn,  deep  in  dreams,  with 
his  yellow  handkerchief  trailing  out  behind  from  his 
pocket.     I  never  saw  him  again. 

I  knew  that  the  press  was  hot  along  the  river ;  for  all 
through  the  winter  there  had  been  talk  of  a  war  with 
France,  to  begin  as  soon  as  the  winter  gales  were  over. 
The  French  were  going  to  invade  England,  to  restore 
that  bad  king  the  second  James ;  that  was  what  people 
said.  Why  a  sensible  people  should  wish  to  fight  for  a 
Stuart  was  a  great  puzzle  to  Dr.  Carter ;  but  so  it  was 


CHAELES  HAEDI^G'S  STORY  9 

to  be.  ^ow  that  the  weather  was  getting  fair,  the 
Deptford  Yards  were  working  day  and  night,  fitting 
out  a  squadron  with  sails  and  powder  and  seamen,  he- 
fore  the  French  should  begin  the  war  by  landing  an 
army  in  Kent,  and  marching  on  London.  It  was  a 
stirring  time  in  Deptford. 

I  set  out  over  Black  Heath,  feeling  very  proud  of 
my  Protection,  and  half  hoping  that  I  might  have  a 
chance  of  showing  it.  To  my  regret,  it  was  sealed 
up.  I  was  tempted  to  open  it,  to  see  what  a  Protec- 
tion looked  like;  for,  though  they  were  common 
enough  in  those  days,  and  could  be  obtained  from  the 
lawyers  by  those  entitled  to  them,  I  had  not  then  seen 
one.  If  I  have  ever  regretted  anything  in  my  life,  I 
have  regretted  that  I  did  not  break  the  seal  to  examine 
that  Protection. 

Deptford  was  in  a  great  bustle  of  preparation  that 
windy  March  afternoon.  The  creek  was  full  of  light- 
ers, loading  provision  casks  for  the  ships  in  the  river. 
The  yards  had  double  sentries  at  their  gates  with 
bayonets  fixed,  ready  to  challenge  any  one  who  tried 
to  enter.  A  few  companies  of  troops  marched  in  from 
the  camp  at  Kensington,  all  the  gartered  legs  swinging 
out  in  time  to  the  flute,  marching  swiftly,  followed  by 
the  women  and  children,  in  half  a  dozen  ordnance  wag- 
gons. The  river  was  full,  almost  as  far  as  Greenwich, 
with  a  fleet  of  great  ships  and  the  host  of  victuallers  en- 
gaged in  giving  them  their  stores.  The  flagship  lay 
off  Greenwich  with  a  signal  flying,  which  made  me 
think  that  the  fleet  was  about  to  sail.     I  did  not  stay 


10  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

long  in  Deptford  after  getting  the  packet  of  snuff; 
but  with  so  much  happening  all  about  me,  in  a  village 
so  tiny,  I  could  not  help  noticing  things.  I  knew  that 
my  schoolfellows  would  want  to  know  what  I  had  seen. 
Having  bought  a  few  lollipops  at  a  sweetstuff  shop,  I 
started  back  towards  Black  Heath,  intending  to  rest  at 
the  top  of  Point  Hill,  looking  down  on  the  bend  of  the 
river  where  the  ships  were  thickest,  before  going  in  for 
supper  and  preparation.  Some  naval  officers,  who  had 
been  dining  at  a  tavern  in  Deptford,  stopped  me  in  the 
road,  just  by  the  bridge  over  the  creek,  to  ask  me  if  I 
would  like  to  go  in  a  ship  with  them  to  see  the  beautiful 
foreign  countries.  I  thought  at  first  that  they  were 
going  to  press  me.  So  I  said,  "  No,  thank  you,  sir.  I 
have  a  Protection,"  and  out  I  lugged  my  precious  en- 
velope. They  laughed  at  this,  as  though  it  were  a 
good  joke.  "  The  young  lawyer,"  they  said.  "  He's 
got  a  Protection.  Don't  have  anything  to  do  with 
him.  He'll  get  you  into  lawsuits."  So  they  laughed, 
and  let  me  go,  and  told  me  that  I  should  be  a  man 
before  my  mother.  They  were  wild  young  men,  a 
little  the  worse  for  claret.  In  that  far-off  age  the  vice 
of  drinking  was  common,  almost  universal.  Even 
gentlemen  got  drunk.  And  when  gentlemen  set  an 
example,  who  can  wonder  if  they  find  many  imita- 
tors? 

A  minute  or  two  later,  just  as  I  was  turning  up  to  the 
hill.  Little  Theo  came  out  of  the  barber's  shop  at  the 
corner  and  walked  over  the  road  to  join  me. 

"  Well,  Harding,"  he  said,  "  we  will  walk  home  to- 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  11 

gether.  You've  been  buying  lollipops,  I  suppose. 
I've  been  buying  a  new  wig." 

"  Oh,  sir,"  I  answered,  rather  dashed  at  his  daring 
to  come  so  far  into  Deptford.  "  Aren't  you  afraid  of 
being  impressed,  sir  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  he  answered ;  "  I  wear  a  sword,  and 
know  how  to  use  it.     Aren't  you  afraid  ?  " 

"  'No,  sir,"  said  I  proudly.     "  I  have  a  Protection." 

"  Why  then,"  he  said,  "  a  fig  for  fear.  Tell  me  what 
you  have  seen  at  Deptford." 

After  that  we  set  off  up  the  steep  hill.  When  we 
had  got  to  within  about  a  hundred  yards  of  the  road  to 
Lewisham,  I  noticed  the  figure  of  a  little  old  woman 
standing  against  the  wall  of  a  garden,  looking  up  the 
hill  away  from  me.  It  was  a  lonely  part  of  the  road 
at  the  best  of  times;  and  just  now,  with  the  press  out 
man-hunting,  and  the  countryside  beset  with  drunken 
sailors,  robbing  and  cutting  throats,  it  was  even  lone- 
lier than  usual.  I  hardly  caught  sight  of  the  woman 
when  she  turned,  saw  us  coming,  and  began  slowly  to 
walk  towards  us,  leaning  on  a  stout  stick,  as  though 
she  were  infirm  with  age.  She  was  coughing  very 
hard,  poor  creature.  I  thought  that  she  would  break 
a  blood  vessel.  When  she  was  within  a  dozen  yards 
of  us,  she  burst  out  coughing  so  violently  that  she 
staggered  back  against  a  wall.  She  looked  so  desper- 
ately ill  that  I  ran  up  to  her,  to  ask  if  I  could  help 
her  in  any  way.  She  was  a  little  old  woman,  meanly 
and  dirtily  dressed,  with  dirty  grey  hairs  poking  out 
from   under   a   broken  bonnet.     Her  face  was   small 


12  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

aud  wretched-looking,  and  all  flushed  with  the  cough- 
ing, which  seemed  to  tear  her  in  pieces. 

"  Ah !  "  she  gasped,  "  ah !  "  (pointing  to  a  small  inn 
along  the  Lewisham  road),  "there.  Help  me."  I 
must  say  this,  that  I  liked  neither  the  woman's  looks 
nor  the  thought  of  helping  her  to  a  tavern,  from  which 
most  probably  she  had  just  issued,  for  she  smelt  very 
strongly  of  gin.  However,  she  was  in  distress,  and 
the  tavern,  if  not  her  home,  might  be  her  lodging,  or 
the  place  where  her  husband  was  drinking ;  and  in  any 
case,  there  was  Little  Theo  at  my  side,  so  I  caught  her 
arm  and  bade  her  lean  on  me. 

She  leant  on  me  so  heavily  that  I  found  it  difficult 
to  walk  with  her.  She  clutched  my  arm  with  a  force 
that  gave  me  a  great  deal  of  pain.  She  was  coughing 
hard,  but  less  terribly  than  when  I  had  spoken.  In 
the  intervals  of  coughing  she  made  some  attempt  to 
thank  me,  with  a  sly  thievish  look  out  of  the  corners 
of  her  eyes,  which  made  me  sick  of  the  creature. 

"  Ah !  "  she  gasped  at  last ;  "  ah !  I'm  better.  To 
the  inn,  my  dear.  I'll  be  all  right  in  the  inn.  A 
good  boy.  Good  boy  to  help  a  poor  old  woman.  Oh, 
this  cough  is  very  bad.  It'll  be  my  death.  It's  the 
dust  that  does  it.  Grinding  the  knives  for  the  gentle- 
men." 

At  the  inn  door  her  coughing  broke  out  again  with 
great  violence,  till  I  expected  to  see  her  drop  dead. 
She  signed  to  me,  in  the  storm  of  coughs,  to  knock  at 
the  door,  which  I  did,  though  with  difficulty,  for  she 
was  clinging  to  me  like  a  wrestler,  and  leaning  most 


CHARLES  HARDI:N"G'S  STORY  13 

of  her  weight  upon  me.  Little  Theo,  walking  up  after 
us,  and  looking  with  grave  distaste  at  the  woman,  also 
knocked.  About  a  minute  after  mj  knock  the  door  was 
opened  by  a  very  evil-looking,  dirty  woman,  with  a 
coarse  red  face  much  inflamed  by  drink.  She  opened 
fire  upon  us  at  once,  with  ready  abuse.  "  Why  don't 
yer  bring  'er  in?  Don't  yer  see  she's  'aving  a  fit  or 
somethink?  Don't  stand  starin'  there.  'Ere,  come 
on  out  of  the  street,  Eliza.     'Elp  'er  in,  you." 

She  reached  out  for  Eliza's  arm,  and  fetched  the 
pair  of  us  indoors  with  a  single  tug;  she  must  have 
been  as  strong  as  an  ox.  Little  Theo,  giving  his  sup- 
port to  Eliza,  entered  also.  When  we  were  fairly  in- 
side, the  woman  slammed  to  the  door,  shutting  out  the 
light. 

"  Wait  'ere  in  the  dark,"  she  said  testily,  "  till  I 
can  get  the  settin'-room  door  open,  I'm  not  goin'  to 
'ave  the  'all  door  open  to  kill  us  all  with  the  draught. 
I'll  get  you  a  drop  o'  somethink,  Eliza." 

After  fumbling  at  a  door  which  I  could  not  see  (for 
the  passage  was  as  dark  as  a  tomb),  she  forced  it  open, 
letting  in  upon  us  a  smell  of  sawdust,  stale  tobacco- 
smoke,  and  spirits  —  the  filthy  smell  which  pot-houses 
of  the  dirtier  kind  exude.  She  had  opened  the  door 
into  a  private  drinking  bar,  one  of  those  squalid  dens 
"  where  sot  meets  sot  in  beery  beastliness."  A  drunk- 
ard inside  somewhere  was  talking  to  the  pot-boy  about 
a  main  of  cocks,  in  which  one  called  Jouncer  had  killed 
the  other, 

"  Help  me  in,  boy,"  said  Eliza,  coughing  grievously. 


14  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

"  Ah !  this  cough.  It  tears  me  in  pieces.  'Elp  me  in. 
A  drop  a  gin.  Gimme  a  drop  a  gin."  We  helped  her 
into  the  sitting-room,  where  she  had  her  drop  a  gin, 
a  good  big  drop.  Her  cough  ceased  directly  she  had 
swallowed  it.  She  began  then  to  leer  at  us  with  sick- 
ening, half-drunken  ogling. 

"  Weren't  you  a  kind  boy,"  she  said,  "  to  'elp  me  'ere. 
I  dunno  as  I  could  a  got  'ome  without  a  kind  boy  to  'elp 
me.  And  the  kind  gentleman,  too.  Wot  a  kind  gentle- 
man !     Much  obliged,  I'm  sure,  sir." 

By  this  time  we  had  had  more  than  enough  of  her. 
Little  Theo  said  that  he  thought  that  she  would  be  all 
right  now  that  she  was  at  home,  and  that  we  would  be 
going.  For  my  part  I  was  eager  to  be  gone.  I  hated 
being  in  such  a  place,  for  I  had  been  brought  up  by 
my  father  to  look  upon  a  tavern  as  one  of  the  devil's 
best  recruiting  sergeants.  We  turned  out  of  the  sitting- 
room,  and  stepped  quickly  into  the  darkness  of  the 
passage.  The  publican,  a  bloated,  pasty-faced  lout, 
with  something  (which  looked  like  a  duster)  in  his 
left  hand,  came  after  us  from  behind  the  bar.  "  I'll 
just  open  the  door  for  you,"  he  said. 

"  It's  a  tricky  door  that,"  said  the  frowsy  woman 
who  had  let  us  in.  I  caught  just  a  glimpse  of  her 
red  dress  in  the  light  near  the  sitting-room  door. 
Looking  ahead,  I  saw  a  blacker  mass  in  the  blackness, 
as  though  some  one  else  were  in  the  passage.  Then, 
before  I  knew  what  was  happening,  something  came 
down,  dark  and  stifling,  round  my  head.  I  heard  the 
woman  cry  out,  "  Got  'im,  Bill  ?     I  got  'is  legs."     My 


CHAKLES  HAKDING'S  STORY  15 

ankles  were  clutched  together  by  a  cord.  I  was  flung 
violently.  Something  was  thrust  between  my  teeth, 
my  arms  were  pinioned.  I  heard  a  vigorous  scuf- 
fling, thudding  noise,  which  told  my  confused  brain 
that  Mr.  Mora  was  being  tackled  also ;  then  I  was  lifted 
and  tossed  down  again,  a  hopeless,  motionless  bundle, 
on  a  heap  which,  by  the  smell,  seemed  to  be  onions. 

"  There,  my  little  joker,"  said  the  voice  of  the  pub- 
lican, "you'll  be  as  right  as  ninepence."  He  laughed 
with  the  hard  mirthless  laughter  of  the  townsman. 

"  Did  'e  get  'is  teeth  into  yer,  Bill  ?  "  asked  Eliza 
an:xiously. 

"  1^0  fear,"  said  Bill,  "  I  was  too  quick." 

"  Well,"  said  Eliza,  who  had  a  quicker  eye  for  profit 
than  her  friend.  "  Eip  that  nice  little  suit  from  'im. 
Eh,  lovey.  That's  good  broadcloth,  that  suit.  I'll  be 
able  to  get  somethink  on  that.  Oh,  and  lovey,  look  at 
wot  nice  boots  'e's  wearin'." 

At  first  I  did  not  know  what  was  happening;  it  was 
as  though  I  had  died  suddenly,  and  found  the  want  of 
a  body  most  distressing.  When  I  felt  them  stripping 
off  my  boots  I  realised  that  I  was  trussed  up  like  a 
fowl,  so  that  I  could  not  even  kick.  There  was  a  sack 
on  my  head,  a  leather  wad  in  my  mouth,  and  rope  at 
my  wrists,  knees,  and  ankles.  I  had  been  trapped  by 
a  bad  gang  of  thieves,  from  whom  I  might  expect  a 
thorough  overhaul  before  being  flung  forth.  I  could 
just  lie  still,  promising  myself  that  I  would  keep  calm, 
so  that  (when  they  came  to  strip  me)  I  might  make  a 
struggle.     But  what  can  one  boy  do  against  three  strong 


16  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

people?  When  thej  stripped  me,  thej  took  very  good 
care  to  run  no  risks  of  disturbance.  I  was  so  carefully 
held  that  they  got  my  clothes  from  me  unharmed. 

"  There,"  they  said,  when  they  had  stripped  me  to 
my  underclothes ;  "  there,  lovey.  ISTow  wot's  in  'is 
pocket  ? " 

They  flung  away  the  sweets  impatiently,  but  I  heard 
Eliza  opening  the  bag  a  moment  later.  As  she  munched 
at  a  lollipop  she  kept  reproving  Bill  for  having  flung 
them  aside.  "  You  know  quite  well  as  I  like  a  bit  o' 
sweet,"  she  said.     "  Wot  d'd  yer  fling  them  away  for  ?  " 

At  last  Bill  told  her  to  hold  her  jaw.  After  this 
they  examined  the  snuff,  and  tried  it  critically  on  their 
own  noses. 

"  Wot  d'yer  think  'e  is  ?  "  asked  the  red-faced  woman, 
referring  to  me.     "  A  errand  boy  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Bill ;  "  a  kid  sent  out  by  his  father  to 
bring  'is  snuff  back  'ome.  Wot's  in  this  'ere  en- 
velope ?  " 

In  spite  of  the  sack  over  my  head  I  could  hear 
everything,  but  it  was  all  so  horribly  dark  and  unreal 
that  it  was  liker  a  nightmare  than  life.  I  heard  the 
coarse  paper  of  the  envelope  crackle  as  they  tore  it 
open,  and  then  I  heard  Bill  whistle  with  delighted 
wonder. 

"  Wot  is  it  ?  "  said  the  red-faced  woman. 

"  Wot  is  it.  Bill  ?  "  said  Eliza. 

"  Look  'ere,"  said  Bill,  "  that's  wot's  wot.  A  golden, 
great  beastly  banker's  draft  for  twenty  pounds.     With 


CHARLES  HARDI:N'G'S  STORY  17 

wot  we'll  get  for  the  kid,  this  job's  a  prime  cut  to  us, 
I  must  say." 

"  Mj,"  said  Eliza,  "  wot's  a  kid  like  that  doing 
with  a  banker's  draft  ?  " 

"  Well,"  answered  Bill,  "  'e  ain't  doin'  nuffin'  with 
it,  that's  wot." 

They  all  laughed  at  this,  as  though  it  were  funny. 
It  came  into  my  mind  then  that  poor  old  short-sighted 
Dr.  Carter  had  given  me  an  envelope  containing  money 
instead  of  the  seaman's  press  Protection.  I  could  only 
hope  that  he  had  discovered  his  mistake  and  given  word 
to  his  banker  to  stop  the  payment. 

"  ISTow,  Jane,"  said  Bill,  "  wot  you  got  to  do  is  to 
wash  your  mug,  put  on  your  togs,  and  take  a  coach  to 
this  'ere  Mr.  Banker  for  to  lift  this  money  before  the 
paper's  proclaimed." 

"  Ow,"  said  Jane,  "  an'  suppose  it  is  proclaimed, 
and  I'm  took,  wot'll  'elp  me  from  being  'anged  ?  " 

"  Your  beauty,"  said  Bill.  "  So  run  along,  or  I'll 
flat  your  jaw  with  a  batten." 

They  argued  the  point  for  a  time,  but  at  last  Jane 
decided  to  run  the  risk  of  being  caught  (and  hung)  for 
two  pounds  more  than  her  third  share  of  the  booty. 
I  heard  her  stumping  about,  growling  sour-temperedly 
as  she  dressed  for  the  adventure.  Then  I  heard  her 
clumping  out  of  the  house,  slamming  the  door  behind 
her.  I  remember  trying  to  guess,  from  the  noise  of 
the  shutting  door,  how  I  lay  with  regard  to  it,  so  that, 
if  a  chance  offered,  I  might  make  a  dash  for  liberty. 


^•' 


18  LOST  ENDEAYOUR 

It  lay  to  my  left,  along  the  passage,  and  probably,  by 
the  noise  it  made  in  closing,  it  opened  by  a  spring  catch 
of  which  I  did  not  know  the  secret.  Altogether,  I 
decided  with  a  sick  heart  that  I  was  in  a  bad  way.  My 
gaolers  had  the  whip  hand  of  me.  I  had  to  wait  their 
pleasure. 

Bill  began  to  talk  with  Eliza  about  the  chance  of 
getting  enough  for  a  "  small  keg  "  out  of  the  pawning 
of  my  clothes.  They  argued  it  "  back  and  to "  for 
about  ten  minutes,  with  the  pertinacity  of  brutes.  I 
concluded  that  a  "  small  keg "  was  some  measure  of 
gin.  I  sincerely  hoped  that  they  might  get  a  small 
keg,  and  that  it  might  choke  them.  I  was  not  fright- 
ened all  this  time.  They  say  that  a  man  caught  by  a 
tiger  is  not  frightened,  but  curious,  full  of  interest  in 
the  tiger's  doings,  and  strangely  calm,  so  that  he  can 
reckon  up  his  past  life  like  a  sum  in  addition.  If  I 
thought  at  all,  I  thought  of  old  Carter  losing  all  that 
money,  and  of  the  letter  which  I  should  write  to  my 
father,  telling  him  of  my  adventure.  I  remember  that, 
long  afterwards,  in  the  Indies,  when  I  was  sickening 
for  a  fever,  I  had  just  such  a  clear  mind,  and  much 
such  thoughts,  not  anxious  thoughts,  but  troubled  and 
uncomfortable.  If  I  longed  for  anything  it  was  for 
the  night  to  come,  so  that  I  might  be  turned  out  of  that 
filthy  house,  which  seemed  to  be  contaminated  in  every 
particle.  I  did  not  think  of  the  black-haired  skeleton 
in  the  schoolhouse ;  he  never  crossed  my  mind.  Had 
he  done  so  I  might  have  been  less  easy.  I  gathered, 
but  was  not  quite  certain  about  it,  that  Little  Theo 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  19 

had  been  put  in  another  part  of  the  house.  My  mind 
was  confused  about  it;  but  I  seemed  to  have  heard  a 
blow,  which  ended  that  scuffling  in  the  passage.  I 
wondered  vaguely  whether  he  had  been  killed. 

Presently  Bill  began  another  conversation.  At  first 
I  did  not  understand  it,  as  much  of  it  was  in  that  vile 
debased  jargon  called  thieves'  patter;  but  when  I  began 
to  pick  up  little  bits  of  it,  my  blood  ran  cold  with 
terror ;  for  now,  for  the  first  time,  I  realised  what  these 
ruffians  were  planning  to  do  with  me.  Having  made 
a  good  booty  of  me,  they  could  not  afford  the  risk  of 
my  informing  upon  them.  If  taken  they  would,  all 
three,  be  hanged  without  mercy,  so  much  I  had  realised 
from  the  first.  I  now  learned  that  they  were  going  to 
get  me  well  out  of  the  way,  not  by  knocking  me  on 
the  head,  and  shoving  me  down  a  manhole  into  the 
river,  as  was  a  common  method  in  the  infamous  dens 
near  the  water,  but  by  another  way  which  would  bring 
them  in  a  comfortable  sum.  At  first  I  thought  that 
they  meant  to  sell  us  to  the  press,  with  a  drugged 
drunkard  or  two  to  bear  us  company,  for  the  few 
shillings  which  naval  officers  paid  to  the  innkeepers  for 
hands  taken  from  their  premises.  But  when  they  be- 
gan to  quarrel  about  the  prices  then  being  paid  in  Vir- 
ginia for  white  slaves  (convicts  or  others)  by  the  to- 
bacco planters  near  the  Chesapeake,  I  knew  that  we 
were  to  be  "  kidnapped,"  or  "  trepanned  " —  that  is, 
carried  across  the  sea  to  be  sold  as  slaves  for  whatever 
we  would  fetch ;  perhaps  ten  pounds,  perhaps  more. 
My  heart  sank,  when  the  talk  of  that  infamous  couple 


20  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

warned  me  of  my  fate.  I  thought  of  my  poor  father 
and  his  anxiety.  He  would  never  know  what  had  hap- 
pened to  me.  I  thought  of  poor  old  Dr.  Carter,  and 
of  the  efforts  he  would  make  to  find  us.  When  I 
thought  of  what  it  would  be  to  these  people,  and  of 
their  agony,  and  of  my  own  utter  ruin  and  wretched- 
ness, I  felt  myself  going  mad.  The  worst  despair  of 
all  was  thinking  that  they  would  think  me  dead,  and 
perhaps  mourn  for  me*,  while  all  the  time  I  should 
be  alive  and  in  misery,  and  unable  to  send  a  word  to 
them,  not  so  much  as  to  say  that  I  was  alive.  I  re- 
member thinking  sometimes  that  it  must  all  be  a  night- 
mare, and  that  I  should  wake  up  in  bed  presently,  and 
be  thankful  that  the  dream  was  over.  Then  I  thought 
that  such  wickedness  would  never  be  allowed  on  this 
earth,  as  for  me  to  be  dragged  away  thus,  and  sold  into 
savage  lands,  in  a  free  country,  to  the  ruin  of  the  life 
prepared  for  me.  Hope  kept  burning  up  in  me  that  I 
should  be  rescued  on  the  road  to  the  ship,  or  sent  home 
by  the  captain,  when  he  heard  my  tale ;  for  I  knew  that 
my  father  would  gladly  pay  more  than  my  price  as  a 
slave  to  have  me  safe  at  home  with  him.  Then  some 
words  from  Bill  about  getting  me  to  the  ship  unob- 
served, and  about  the  certainty  of  the  Virginian  con- 
voy's sailing  the  next  morning,  if  the  northerly  wind 
held,  dashed  my  hope  dovm  again,  till  I  was  nearly 
delirious.  I  fear  that  my  misery  made  me  very  selfish. 
I  did  not  think  much  of  poor  Mr.  Mora,  nor  of  what 
it  might  be  to  him.  I  think  that  I  felt  that  he  was  a 
man,  grown  up  and  strong,  and  that  nothing  very  bad 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  21 

could  possibly  happen  to  him.     The  tragedy,   I  felt, 
was  all  for  me. 

The  time  dragged  by  as  slowly  as  it  drags  in  a  fever. 
When  one  is  excited,  evilly  excited,  one  lives  through 
so  much  in  a  moment  that  half  an  hour  seems  like  a 
week.  Thus  it  was  now  with  me.  I  was  not  certain 
of  the  passage  of  time;  but  after  a  long,  long  while 
Bill  struck  a  light  with  a  flint  and  steel,  so  that  he  might 
have  a  look  at  me.  Eliza  said  that  she  would  get  sup- 
per if  Bill  would  "  hot  drop  a  gin  " ;  so  by  that  I  reck- 
oned it  might  be  supper-time,  or  six  in  the  evening. 
Presently  some  one  flooded  the  house  with  a  vile  smell 
of  toasted  cheese,  and  some  one  else  added  a  stink  of 
reeking  spirits.  The  two  supped  together,  growling 
about  not  going  to  wait  all  night  for  Jane,  who,  if  she 
didn't  come  in  in  time,  might  cook  her  own  supper. 
After  supper  they  both  lit  pipes,  and  smoked  strong 
ships'  tobacco,  till  the  air  was  like  poison.  It  was  over 
their  pipes  that  they  began  to  grow  uneasy  about  Jane. 
They  wondered  if  she  had  been  stopped  while  trying 
to  cash  the  draft  (long  afterwards  I  learned  that  she 
had  been  stopped),  and  if  so,  whether  she  would  be 
likely  to  "  get  them  all  into  trouble  " —  that  is,  turn 
evidence  against  them.  After  this  I  learned,  from  a 
chance  remark  of  Bill's,  that  the  drunkard  whose  voice 
I  had  heard  on  entering  that  house  was  "  sleeping 
proper,"  owing  to  a  dash  of  some  drug  in  his  last  pot 
of  gin.  He,  too,  would  "  make  the  grand  tour,"  said 
Bill,  and  "  fetch  a  good  twenty  anyway."  So  we  were 
to  have  company,  it  seemed.     I  do  not  know  that  any- 


22  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

thing  else  happened  worth  mentioning  during  that 
miserable  evening.  I  think  that  I  can  say  all,  in  say- 
ing merely  that  I  was  in  a  dull,  shaking  delirium  of 
misery,  which  need  not  be  described  more  fully. 


Ill 

It  was  two  in  the  morning  (I  could  hear  the  clocks 
of  the  churches)  when  a  cart  came  to  the  door  to  carry 
us  away.  Jane  had  not  returned,  so  Bill,  to  his  evident 
disgust,  had  to  take  us  down  to  the  ship  to  barter  us, 
dressed  up  as  a  woman,  for  fear  the  press  should  take 
him.  The  driver  of  the  cart  was  an  old  crone,  who 
sat  on  the  shafts  smoking  a  pipe.  She  asked  Bill  if  he 
weren't  making  his  fortune.  Bill  sourly  answered  that 
it  wasn't  none  of  her  business  if  he  was.  Then  with 
Eliza's  help  he  flung  the  drunkard  into  the  cart,  and 
pitched  me  on  top  of  him,  with  Little  Theo,  evidently 
unconscious  still,  on  the  top  of  all.  Little  Theo  was 
breathing  in  great  choking  gasps.  He  had  been 
knocked  on  the  head.  I  remember  a  blessed  gush  of 
cold,  fresh  night  air,  then  the  shock  of  my  collapse  on 
to  the  body,  and  that  continuous  gasping  breathing, 
like  snoring,  and  the  grunt  of  the  drunkard  as  I  struck 
him.  I  heard  Eliza  bid  Bill  to  cover  us  in  case  the 
watch  or  the  press  should  be  about.  A  tarpaulin  was 
flung  across  us.  Bill,  gathering  up  his  skirts,  stepped 
into  the  cart,  kicking  my  ribs  because  he  trod  on  me. 
I  heard  the  old  crone  slash  the  horse  cruelly  with  a 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  23 

stick;  I  heard  Eliza  slam  the  door.  Then  we  started 
off  on  our  journey  of  misery,  down  the  roads  which  I 
had  so  often  walked  when  going  to  Greenwich  on  a 
half-holiday.  It  was  all  pitch  dark  to  me,  for  my  eyes 
were  blinded;  but  I  could  guess  whereabouts  we  were 
by  our  halts  at  the  turnings,  and  once  (when  we  passed 
Flyer's  tanpits)  the  smell  of  the  soaking  leather  brought 
back  so  many  jolly  days  to  me  that  I  choked.  I  under- 
stood then  how  the  criminals  feel  when  they  are  driven 
up  the  town  to  be  hanged  at  Tyburn.  The  old  crone 
asked  Bill  if  he  were  going  to  Tiger  Wharf  or  to  the 
old  place. 

"  The  old  place,"  Bill  answered,  "  'cos  that's  where 
the  ship  is  lying."  So  turning  down  past  Greenwich 
Church,  we  stopped  at  last  by  one  of  the  wharfs  on 
Greenwich  Reach,  within  earshot  of  the  gurgle  of  the 
tide. 

Bill  gave  a  low  whistle  on  three  notes,  which  was 
answered  by  three  more  from  somewhere  in  the  night. 
Then  I  heard  clumsy  footsteps  clumping  slowly  to- 
wards us,  and  smelt  that  smell  of  candle-grease  and  hot 
metal  which  a  lantern  gives  out  when  it  has  burnt  for 
a  long  time.  The  footsteps  came  nearer,  so  that  I  could 
hear  the  lantern-ring  click  as  the  bearer  raised  it  aloft 
to  look  at  us. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  a  deep  voice.  "  Is  it  for  the 
grand  tour  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Bill.  "  You  know  what  it  is  as  well 
as  I  do." 

The  newcomer  did  not  answer,  but  twitched  our  cov- 


24  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

erings  off  with  one  powerful  wrench  of  his  wrist.  He 
felt  our  hands  to  see  if  we  were  still  alive.  Then, 
reaching  down,  he  swung  me  up  on  his  shoulder  as 
though  I  were  a  sack  of  shavings. 

"  This  is  a  young  one,"  he  grunted. 

Balancing  himself  in  the  sea  style,  he  carried  me 
gingerly  along  the  plank  which  served  as  a  gangway 
to  the  ship  at  the  wharf's  edge.  He  muttered  to  him- 
self all  the  way,  "  A  young  one,  a  very  young  one,  to 
be  going  the  grand  tour."  Then  he  dropped  me  down, 
not  unkindly,  on  to  some  rather  hard  soft  stuff  (so  it 
felt),  which  I  afterwards  knew  to  be  a  sail,  not  yet 
bent,  so  that  he  might  go  back  for  the  rest.  After  a 
minute  or  two  he  returned.  Bill,  who  helped  him  with 
the  other  bodies,  made  a  good  deal  of  fuss  over  the 
exertion,  as  though  he  were  in  very  bad  condition. 

"  There,"  said  Bill,  "  two  of  the  best  I  ever  sent  on 
their  travels.  Now  per'aps  you'll  talk  a  little  English 
to  me." 

"  Come  on  into  the  cabin,"  said  the  seaman ;  "  I'm 
only  watchman.  The  old  man'll  have  to  see  them  before 
you  get  your  English  talked  to  you  (that  is,  your  money 
paid).  We'll  fetch  'em  into  the  cabin  and  freshen 
them  up." 

A  few  minutes  later  I  was  turned  over  on  my  face, 
so  that  my  bonds  might  be  cut.  The  sack  was  pulled 
off  from  my  head,  my  gag  was  removed.  I  stood  up, 
blinking,  a  miserable  figure,  under  two  swinging  lamps 
in  a  ship's  cabin.  Just  behind  me  stood  Bill,  dressed 
crudely  in  a  woman's  gown ;  at  my  side  was  a  big  burly 


CHAKLES  HARDING'S  STORY  25 

seaman  in  an  apron ;  in  front  of  me  was  a  row  of  lock- 
ers, on  the  top  of  which  lay  a  languid-looking  dark  man, 
in  a  green  silk  sleeping  suit.  He  was  flushed  with 
sleep;  I  fancy  he  had  just  been  roused.  He  looked  at 
me  without  interest  for  a  moment,  but  said  nothing. 
Then  he  turned  to  the  seaman,  who  was  waiting  for 
a  sign  from  him.  "  The  other,"  he  said  curtly.  The 
seaman  cast  loose  the  lashings  on  the  drunkard,  splashed 
a  mug  of  water  in  his  face,  and  finally  kicked  him  in 
the  ribs,  without  more  effect  than  to  raise  a  grunt.  As 
for  Mr.  Mora,  he  was  allowed  to  lie.  The  heavy  breath- 
ing was  enough  to  tell  anybody  that  no  amount  of 
kicking  could  bring  him  to  life. 

"  Dead  ?  "  asked  the  man  on  the  lockers.  The  sea- 
man turned  to  Bill. 

"  What  have  you  been  giving  this  feller  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  give  him  a  little  sleeping  drink,"  said  Bill. 
"  He's  only  goin'  to  sleep  it  orf." 

"  And  the  other  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Bill,  "  I  give  him  a  whang  on  the  nut. 
He's  only  shammin'  sick." 

"  Shamming  ?  "  said  the  man  on  the  lockers.  "  Be 
quiet.     How  much  for  the  three  ?  " 

"  Forty  pound,"  said  Bill. 

"  Take  them  away,"  said  the  man  on  the  locker. 
"  Take  them  out  of  here,  and  yourself  too." 

He  was  the  captain  and  owner  of  the  ship,  but  he 
talked  with  as  much  authority  as  an  emperor.  "  Take 
them  away,"  he  repeated. 

"  Where  to,  sir  ?  "  asked  Bill. 


26  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

"  That's  your  business." 

"  Come,  captain,"  said  Bill ;  "  don't  you  tell  me  they 
ain't  worth  forty.  I  amn't  such  a  pup  at  this  job. 
They're  well  worth  forty.  Why,  you'll  get  eighty  for 
'em  in  the  colony." 

The  captain  turned  over  on  his  side,  hitched  the  rug 
over  his  shoulders,  and  made  as  if  to  fall  asleep. 

"  Forty's  my  price,"  said  Bill  truculently,  losing  his 
temper  at  the  sight  of  the  captain's  calm ;  "  and  you'll 
pay  me  forty,  Captain  whatever  your  grand  name  is, 
or  you'll  find  yourself  in  lob's  pound,  although  you 
think  yourself  a  lord.  I  could  pitch  a  tale  to  the 
magistrates'd  bring  your  gall  into  your  throat." 

The  captain  opened  his  eyes  gravely  and  looked  into 
Bill's  face  without  speaking.  Bill's  angry  speech  came 
to  an  abrupt  end  under  that  quiet  gaze.  When  he 
stopped,  the  captain  swung  himself  from  his  bed  with 
a  slight  heave  of  his  body,  which  showed  him  to  be  a 
man  of  fine  muscular  development.  He  dipped  his 
feet  into  a  pair  of  embroidered  slippers  and  stood  erect, 
a  splendid  creature,  with  no  trace  of  languor  in  all  his 
figure.  "  Twenty  is  my  price,  my  man,"  he  said. 
"  This  beast  here  (indicating  the  drunkard)  may  die 
from  your  poison.  The  boy  isn't  worth  sea-carriage. 
As  for  the  gentleman,  I  don't  like  gentlemen-slaves,  and 
you've  clumped  him  so  hard  that  he  may  die  too." 

Bill  seemed  to  think  for  a  moment  as  to  his  plan  of 
action,  and  then  made  up  what  mind  he  had  that  he 
could  gain  his  point  by  savagery. 

"  You  give  me  any  of  your  gall,"  he  said,  "  I'll  'ave 


CHAELES  HAEDIN'G'S  STORY  27 

you  fetched  out  of  your  ship  and  'ung.  You're  in  my 
power,  that's  wot  you  are  —  all  the  lot  of  yer.  So 
cough  up  them  forty  pahnds.  I  don't  want  to  stay  'ere 
all  night.  You  give  me  wot's  mine  by  rights.  Don't 
you  give  me  any  of  your  gall." 

"  What  are  your  rights  ?  "  said  the  captain. 

"  Forty  pahnds  is  my  rights,"  said  Bill,  "  and  I'm 
going  to  'ave  them  before  I  leave  'ere.     See  ?  " 

"  I  see,"  said  the  captain.  "  Well,  there's  no  sense 
in  quarrelling ;  let  us  talk  it  over  quietly. —  Bring  some 
brandy,  Mr.  Mate.  IsTo  man  can  talk  business  without 
brandy. —  Sit  down,  Mr.  What's-your-name." 

He  motioned  Bill  to  a  chair  at  the  table,  and  sat 
down  himself  at  my  side,  paying  no  more  attention  to 
me  than  he  would  have  paid  to  a  fly.  Something  in 
his  face  made  me  feel  that  perhaps  he  would  hear  an 
appeal  from  me,  so  I  flung  myself  down  in  front  of 
him  and  begged  him  not  to  tear  me  away  from  my 
father.  I  suppose  I  had  spoken  twenty  words  of  en- 
treaty before  the  mate,  coming  in  with  the  brandy  and 
a  couple  of  tumblers  full  of  punch,  choked  the  words 
from  my  throat  with  his  great  fist,  and  shoved  the  gag 
back  into  my  mouth.  The  captain  paid  no  attention 
to  me.  He  merely  stared  at  Bill,  who  seemed  amused 
at  my  outcry  for  mercy.  Something  in  the  captain's 
stare  (which  Bill  was  too  dull  to  notice)  gave  me  a 
sense  of  something  terrible  about  to  happen.  I  remem- 
ber quite  plainly  how  the  sudden  sense  of  something 
terrible  about  to  happen  turned  my  thoughts  a  little 
from  myself  and  in  a  way  comforted  me.     I  began  to 


28  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

watch  the  captain,  as  one  would  watch  a  tiger  about  to 
spring  upon  his  victim. 

"  We  mustn't  quarrel,  Bill,"  said  the  captain ; 
"  must  we  ?  " 

"  You  give  me  wot  I  ask,  and  wot's  right,  an'  you 
won't  get  no  quarrel,"  said  Bill  surlily. 

"  True,"  said  the  captain.  "  We've  done  business 
for  a  long  time.  Bill.  How  many  have  we  set  travel- 
ling between  us  ? " 

"  A  matter  of  thirty  odd,"  said  Bill.  "  I  give  you 
a  matter  of  seven  last  year." 

"  Why,  so  you  did,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  captain. 
"  Certainly  you  must  have  what  is  right.  Here's  the 
brandy.  If  your  punch  isn't  strong  enough,  just  add 
from  the  bottle." 

Bill  looked  at  the  captain  with  low  cunning.  "  I 
want  your  special  brandy,"  he  said.  "  JSTone.  of  your 
ordinary  dollops  for  me." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  captain,  "  you'll  find  this  above 
proof.     Your  very  good  health,  Bill." 

He  raised  his  glass  towards  Bill  and  took  a  good 
draught.  Bill  sipped  his  glass  to  get  a  taste  of  the 
liquor's  quality,  then  shot  it  down  his  throat,  just  as 
one  flings  earth  from  a  shovel.  Almost  instantly  he 
collapsed  over  the  table  as  though  he  had  been  pole- 
axed.  It  was  as  though  his  bones  had  suddenly  been 
removed  from  him. 

"  That  was  a  strong  shot,  sir,"  said  the  mate  calmly. 
"  Shall  I  put  him  in  the  lazarette  ?  " 

The    captain    merely    nodded.     The    mate    swiftly 


CHAKLES  HAEDING'S  STORY  29 

lashed  Bill's  hands  and  ankles  with  some  spun-yam, 
shoved  a  rag  into  his  mouth  to  keep  him  quiet  when 
he  woke,  and  then,  pulling  up  a  small  hatch  in  the 
floor,  dropped  the  body  down  into  darkness. 

"  He  was  getting  too  uppish,"  said  the  mate.  "  And 
forty.  He'll  fetch  fifty  guineas,  may  be.  He'll  have 
a  lo.t  of  friends  there,  glad  to  see  him  when  we  get  to 
the  West." 

The  captain  did  not  answer,  but,  after  pitching  Bill's 
glass  into  the  river,  returned  quietly  to  his  bed  upon 
the  lockers.  He  just  motioned  to  the  mate  with  one 
finger  to  remove  me  from  his  presence. 

Just  outside  the  cabin  door,  we  found  the  old  crone, 
who  had  come  aboard  for  Bill.  She  was  getting  cold 
and  sleepy  out  there  on  the  wharf,  and  wanted  to  know 
how  much  longer  she  was  going  to  be  kept  there.  The 
mate  advised  her  not  to  wait  any  longer,  since  Bill  was 
making  a  beast  of  himself  with  the  captain's  brandy. 

"  Guzzling  'og,"  said  the  old  crone.  "  Nor  I  won't 
wait." 

So  ashore  she  went,  and  a  moment  later  I  heard  the 
cart  wheels  crunching  on  the  earth  as  she  drove  away. 
The  mate  took  me  into  a  dark  place  of  many  smells, 
close  enough  to  the  great  cabin  to  be  covered  by  the 
poop.  Here  he  kicked  about  with  his  feet  till  he  as- 
sured himself  that  the  cat  was  not  asleep  on  some  boat 
covers  which  had  been  tossed  into  one  corner  of  this 
room  to  be  out  of  the  way.  Then  he  took  out  my  gag, 
and  gave  my  throat  a  friendly  squeeze. 

"  See  here,"  he  said.     "  Your  old  life,  whatever  it 


30  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

was,  is  over.  See?  What  your  new  one  '11  be  like 
depends  on  yourself.  If  you  scream  or  caterwaul,  now 
your  gag's  gone,  my  orders  are  to  club  your  silly  bead 
in,  and  dump  you  into  the  river.  There's  nothing  I'd 
enjoy  doing  better.  If  you'll  give  your  word  not  to 
raise  the  Peak  here,  I'll  give  you  your  hands  and  legs 
free.  If  not,  I'll  truss  you  up  like  a  Christmas  duck. 
Which  is  it  to  be  ?  " 

I  said  as  well  as  I  could,  for  I  was  too  miserable  to 
say  much,  that  I  would  be  quiet ;  but  might  I  have  some 
water. 

"  Water,"  he  said ;  "  water's  for  fishes.  You  can 
have  beer  if  you  like."  So  he  gave  me  some  of  the 
very  weak,  thin  beer  which  sailors  drink. 

"  You  drink  like  Sunday  Jack,  who  broke  the 
brewer,"  he  said;  for  truly  I  was  mighty  thirsty. 
"  Now  cover  yourself  in  them  rugs,  and  sleep  while 
you  get  the  chance.  You  got  some  sense  I  see."  After 
that  he  locked  me  in  for  the  night. 

The  beer,  and  my  misery  together,  overpowered  me. 
I  fell  into  the  deep  sleep  of  utter  exhaustedness,  and 
though  I  woke  once  in  a  half-hearted  kind  of  way,  at 
a  strange  noise  from  up  above  me,  I  dropped  off  again 
and  slept  like  a  log.  I  woke  up  at  last  with  a  start, 
not  remembering  what  had  happened.  The  room  in 
which  I  was  was  strange  to  me.  It  was  fully  twenty 
seconds  before  I  came  to  myself,  and  realised  that  I 
was  in  a  ship,  going  to  be  sold  as  a  slave.  I  was  really 
on  my  way  to  slavery  at  that  moment;  for  the  ship 
was  lifting  and  rolling  slightly ;  the  water  was  clucking 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  31 

past.  I  could  hear  the  creaking  of  timher  as  the  ship 
rolled.  Some  mugs,  dangling  from  hooks  in  the  ceil- 
ing above  me,  inclined  gingerly  to  one  side  at  each 
roll,  and  then  with  the  same  deliberation  inclined  back. 
We  were  under  way,  the  ship  was  moving.  I  w^as  go- 
ing from  my  home,  from  my  father,  from  everything 
which  I  held  dear,  to  something  horrible,  far  off,  which 
I  could  not  understand  nor  foresee.  In  a  fury  of  de- 
spair I  ran  to  the  door,  and  kicked  and  struck  at  it  with 
my  stockinged  feet  and  fists.  But  it  was  fast  locked: 
I  might  have  spared  myself  the  trouble.  Then,  in 
great  distress,  I  flung  myself  down  upon  my  sail  and 
wept  myself  sick. 

IV 

The  mate  roused  me  out  of  my  misery  at  about  seven 
o'clock. 

"  You  needn't  blubber  your  heart  out,"  he  said 
roughly.  "  You  ain't  pretty  when  you  blubber. 
You'll  just  rouse  out  and  lend  a  hand  here.  How  old 
are  you  ?  " 

I  told  him  that  I  was  fourteen. 

"  Are  you  ? "  he  said.  "  Then  you  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  blubbing  that  way.  And  it's  time  you 
earned  your  living." 

So  he  dragged  me  out  on  deck  by  the  ear  just  as  I 
was,  bootless  and  half  dressed,  and  put  me  to  scrub 
some  paintwork  with  soap  and  water.  He  stood  over 
me  while  I  worked,  and  made  a  jest  of  my  poor  sue- 


32  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

cess.  Whenever  I  lifted  my  head  to  look  at  the  Eng- 
lish shores  slipping  away  from  me,  for  we  were  under 
all  sail  and  travelling  fast,  he  jerked  a  couple  of  hairs 
out  of  my  neck  to  remind  me  of  my  duty.  At  last 
some  one  struck  "  eight  bells  "  on  the  bell  above  my 
head,  and  the  mate  told  me  to  knock  off  for  a  moment. 
Standing  up,  I  saw  that  the  river  was  full  of  ships 
under  full  sail,  all  the  great  Virginian  convoy,  bowling 
away  down  tide,  with  colours  flying.  Half  a  dozen 
men-of-war  were  heading  them  up  as  dogs  head  sheep, 
firing  stray  guns  as  signals  where  a  dog  would  have 
barked.  I  made  up  my  mind  from  that  moment,  bitter 
as  it  was  to  do  so,  that  my  life  was  changed  beyond  hope 
of  remedy.  My  task  now,  I  saw,  was  to  make  what  I 
could  of  myself  under  the  new  conditions,  at  present 
so  strange  and  hateful  to  me.  I  remembered  some  advice 
given  to  me  by  my  father  upon  my  first  going  to  school. 
He  had  told  me  to  make  very  sure  that  I  impressed  folk 
favourably  at  a  first  meeting  by  answering  smartly  and 
clearly,  acting  willingly,  and  taking  care  of  my  ap- 
pearance. It  was  little  enough  that  I  knew  of  the  great 
world  apart  from  this  advice;  but  it  was  like  hearing 
a  word  from  my  father  to  remember  them  at  this  time. 
It  gave  me  a  great  deal  of  comfort.  When  the  mate 
came  back  from  mustering  the  watch,  I  went  up  to  him 
boldly. 

"  Please,  sir,"  I  said.  "  May  I  have  some  proper 
clothes  to  wear  while  I  am  at  work  ?  "  He  growled 
out,  like  the  sea-bear  he  was,  that  I  had  not  yet  earned 
my  clothes,  and  that  it  wasn't  much  good  giving  me 


CHARLE&  HARDING'S  STORY  33 

clothes,  since  I  evidently  couldn't  keep  them  when  I 
had  them.  Still,  for  all  his  growl,  I  saw  that  he  liked 
me  for  the  question.  He  came  back  to  me  in  a  few 
minutes  bearing  a  "  teaser,"  or  blood-knot  of  hard, 
tarred  spunyarn,  with  which  he  smacked  his  left  hand 
affectionately. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  "  can  you  run  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"  Do  you  know  a  cross-tree  when  you  see  it  ?  " 

"  'No,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"Then  I'll  teach  you,"  he  said.  "Them  little 
branches  on  the  tree  there  (the  mainmast)  is  the  cross- 
trees.  And  if  you  don't  get  over  them  and  dovvai  the 
other  side,  before  I  do,  you'll  taste  ISTero  here." 

With  that  he  darted  at  me  lashing  at  me  with  his 
teaser,  but  I  dodged  him.  I  skipped  into  the  rigging 
like  a  monkey,  with  JSTero  slashing  at  my  calves  just 
below,  and  the  ratlines  giving  my  stockinged  feet  acute 
pain.  I  went  up  like  a  bird,  over  the  giddy  futtocks, 
with  the  big  man  shaking  the  shrouds  beneath  me. 
Then,  quite  out  of  breath,  I  scrambled  over  the  cross- 
trees,  and  somehow  down  the  other  side. 

"  There,"  said  the  mate,  when  he  joined  me  on  the 
deck,  "  now  you've  been  aloft,  I  can  make  a  man  of 
you.     Come  below,  and  get  some  proper  clothes  on." 

After  this,  I  lived  the  life  of  a  common  ship's  boy. 
It  is  a  pretty  hard  life,  without  much  pleasure  in  it. 
I  was  put  in  a  watch  with  the  other  seamen,  and  did 
what  they  did,  scrubbing  paint  and  woodwork,  toiling 
aloft  at  the  ropes  and  sails,  getting  wet  through  con- 


34  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

tinually,  wearying  my  arms  with  pumping,  getting  more 
kicks  than  ha'pence,  for  very  bad  food  and  little  sleep ; 
but  finding  some  of  it  pleasant  all  the  same,  when  I 
could  keep  from  thinking  of  my  father.  The  mate,  to 
whom  I  confided  some  of  my  story,  one  night  when  he 
was  inclined  to  talk  to  me,  told  me  to  keep  a  "stiff  up- 
per lip "  and  "  watch  out."  "  What's  the  odds,"  he 
said ;  "  what'd  you  a  been  in  the  old  country  ?  A 
shark  (a  lawyer)  or  a  preacher  man.  Well.  Now 
you'll  be  sold  in  Virginia.  We  shall  be  there  in  a  fort- 
night from  this.  What's  the  odds  ?  You  watch  out 
and  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip;  you'll  be  free  by  the  time 
you're  twenty-one,  and  have  money  coming  to  you,  and 
be  a  farmer  on  your  own  account.  That's  better  than 
being  a  lawyer,  and  having  to  live  in  a  filthy  hole  like 
London  all  your  life." 

"  Yes,"  I  said ;  "  but  there's  my  father ;  I  want  to 
see  my  father  again,  or  at  least  write  to  him." 

"  What  d'ye  want  to  write  to  him  for  ? "  asked  the 
mate.  "  I  never  write  to  my  father.  I  dunno  whether 
he's  alive  or  not.  You  let  well  alone,  my  son.  Provi- 
dence has  took  you  from  your  father.  Well,  don't  you 
go  agen  Providence." 

He  was  not  quite  certain  about  the  rightness  of  this 
command  of  his,  for  he  afterwards  asserted  it  more 
strongly  than  before,  and  then  very  kindly  offered  to 
carry  a  letter  to  my  father  when  the  ship  returned  to 
England.  He  took  the  letter  with  him,  but  as  far  as 
I  can  make  out  it  never  reached  its  destination ;  though 
all  this,  of  course,  happened  after  our  arrival. 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  35 


As  for  Little  Theo,  the  knock  on  his  head  gave  him 
a  fever.  He  was  ill  for  all  the  voyage,  and  not  prop- 
erly conscious  for  at  least  seven  days.  In  my  watches 
below  —  that  is,  in  the  spells  of  leisure  allowed  to  me 
for  food  and  sleep,  recreation  (keeping  myself  clean) 
and  study  (as  they  called  greasing  the  mate's  boots) 
—  I  used  to  go  down  to  him  to  sit  beside  him.  It  was 
very  shocking  to  see  him  down  there  in  the  cabin, 
tossing  about,  and  moaning,  and  talking  in  all  kinds  of 
tongues;  but  I  got  a  sort  of  melancholy  pleasure  from 
it,  because  he  was  a  part  of  my  old  life.  He  linked 
me  on  to  it  still  in  many  ways.  While  I  had  him,  I 
had  something  of  it  all  beside  me.  I  used  to  pray  for 
him  to  get  better  before  the  ship  came  to  Virginia.  I 
am  afraid  that  it  was  a  selfish  prayer.  You  see,  he 
had  been  my  master.  He  had  seemed  omnipotent  then. 
I  believed  somehow  that  he  could  get  me  out  of  this 
scrape,  if  he  were  only  up  and  about,  strong  and  hearty. 

The  oiScers  of  the  ship  nursed  him,  fairly  tenderly 
for  sailors.  The  mate  used  to  give  him  brandy  from 
his  own  allowance.  "  He's  a  big  feller,"  he  used  to  say 
admiringly.  "  He'd  be  able  to  carry  a  Potosi  pig  if 
he  had  his  health.  That's  a  lump  of  gold,  a  Potosi  pig 
is.  They  have  them  in  the  Potosi  mines,  and  any  one 
as  can  lift  one  is  free  to  keep  it  for  his  own." 

Then  the  captain  would  come  down,  look  at  the  sick 
man,  and  say  perhaps,  "  Not  so  feverish  to-day  " ;  or, 


36  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

"  I  believe  he'll  pull  through  yet  " ;  or,  "  It'll  be  a  dead 
loss  of  thirty  pounds  if  this  one  goes  through  the  port " 
(that  is,  dies).  Then  the  mate  would  take  his  pipe  out 
of  his  mouth  and  spit  into  the  sea.  "  Yes,  mister,"  he 
would  answer.  "  Thirty  pounds,  by  heck.  It'd  be  too 
bad  to  put  this  one  over  the  side.  He's  a  big  feller. 
He'd  be  able  to  carry  a  Potosi  pig.  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  a  Potosi  pig,  captain  ?  It's  a  lump  of  gold, 
etc." 

They  didn't  put  him  "  over  the  side."  Little  Theo 
slowly  recovered.  When  he  began  to  get  better  they 
forbade  my  visiting  him.  They  kept  me  out  of  the 
cabin,  so  that  we  might  not  talk  nor  plot  together.  I 
only  saw  him  once  during  the  last  third  of  the  passage. 
I  was  up  aloft,  overhauling  the  main  buntlines,  and  he 
was  on  the  poop,  taking  air  for  the  first  time.  He  was 
crippling  about  on  deck,  supported  by  sticks,  the  ghost 
of  the  man  whom  I  had  known.  The  mate  and  captain 
were  on  deck  near  him,  looking  at  him  just  as  butchers 
look  at  the  beasts  come  in  for  slaughter.  I  did  not 
speak  to  him  then,  nor  later,  but  the  mate  brought  me 
a  message  from  him  that  night.  I  was  to  cheer  up. 
"  Your  friend  says,  cheer  up ;  there's  nothing  in  being 
sold  to  a  planter.     So  cheer  up." 

"Please,  Mr.  Mate,"  I  answered;  "may  I  be  sold 
with  him,  so  that  we  can  be  together  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  He  isn't  fit  to  be  sold.  He  won't 
be  sold  in  Virginia  at  all.  We  shall  keep  him  aboard 
till  he  gets  better,  and  sell  him  in  Jamaica.  But  you'll 
be  sold  directly  we  arrive.     You  ain't  got  anything  the 


CHAELES  HAEDING'S  STORY  37 

matter  with  you,  like  what  he  has.  So  cheer  up.  You 
ought  to  be  very  thankful  you're  enjoying  such  good 
health." 

That  was  the  last  I  heard  of  Little  Theo,  my  old 
master,  for  many  a  long  day. 


VI 

When  we  arrived  at  James  Town  in  Virginia,  I  was 
taken  ashore  with  half  a  dozen  other  unfortunates  (Bill 
was  one  of  them,  and  a  mighty  sick  unfortunate  he 
looked),  and  exposed  for  sale  in  the  street.  The  farm- 
ers came,  and  looked  in  my  mouth  (at  my  teeth),  and 
felt  my  arm-muscles.  They  made  me  feel  like  one  of 
the  animals.  A  horse  or  cow  would  have  had  more 
sympathy  from  them.  They  would  have  clapped  a 
horse  on  the  neck,  and  slapped  the  cow's  flanks,  calling 
them  "  Ginger  "  or  "  Sweetlips."  I  was  merely  a  boy, 
unable  to  make  much  money  for  them,  so  I  got  nothing 
but  an  oath  or  two  from  the  captain,  who  tried  to  sell 
me.  He  might  have  been  a  little  gentler  with  me ;  for 
I  had  cost  him  nothing,  and  had  surely  earned  my  food 
by  my  hard  work  on  the  voyage.  However,  I  must  do 
him  justice.  When  he  did  sell  me,  he  very  honestly 
gave  me  a  roll  of  that  thin  blue  cloth,  known  as  dun- 
garee, in  pajTuent  for  my  work  during  the  passage. 
"  There,"  he  said ;  "  there's  your  wages,  boy." 
And  then  away  he  went,  and  I  never  saw  him  again, 
so  that  to  this  day  he  is  something  of  a  mystery  to  me. 


38  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

I  have  often  hoped  to  meet  with  him  —  the  handsome, 
sleepj-looking,  pitiless  man.  When  I  see  him,  if  I 
ever  do,  I  will  settle  up  a  pretty  long  account  with  what- 
ever stick  comes  handy. 


VII 

The  man  who  bought  me  was  a  rough-looking  cus- 
tomer named  Carteret.  He  paid  fifteen  pounds  in 
tobacco  and  crude  silver  for  me,  and  marched  me  off 
to  his  sloop,  which  lay  at  the  jetty.  He  was  pleased 
when  I  told  him  that  I  could  steer  a  sailing-boat.  When 
we  stood  off  for  his  farm,  he  let  me  take  the  tiller ;  and 
though  he  showed  that  he  considered  me  as  his  slave, 
he  was  kind.  He  told  me  the  names  of  the  various 
points  of  land  in  sight ;  and  of  the  depth  of  the  river, 
and  the  habits  of  its  fish.  He  told  me  of  the  deer  and 
the  wild  pig  in  the  forests.  He  talked  of  the  Indians 
who  hunted  in  the  forests.  "  The  first  thing  you'll  have 
to  learn,"  he  said,  "  is  to  be  as  like  an  Indian  as  you 
can.  These  woods  aren't  like  the  woods  at  home,  boy. 
There's  many  gets  lost  here.  And  there's  bad  men  in 
them.  And  sometimes  an  Indian  buck  gets  a  blood- 
thirst  on  him,  and  he  goes  out  after  scalps,  much  as 
I'd  go  after  a  rabbit.  So,  while  you're  in  the  woods, 
you  look  at  what  the  birds  are  doing.  And  if  they 
get  scared,  you  lie  low  till  you  see  what  scared  them." 

All  the  time  he  was  speaking  he  was  looking  all 
about  him,  noticing  everything  from  a  faint  smoke  far 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  39 

off  on  the  further  bank  of  the  river,  to  a  string  of  wild 
fowl  coming  behind  us.  Something  moved  me  to  ask 
him  if  his  farm  were  far  away. 

"  1^0,"  he  said  easily,  as  though  he  were  mention- 
ing something  quite  commonplace.  "  Three  days,  or 
four  if  the  wind  falls." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  it  took  us  five  days  of  sailing  to 
reach  the  lonely  Accomac  creek,  known  to  the  woods- 
men as  Carteret's  Clearing.  There  was  a  little  log- 
house  at  the  creek-end.  A  byre  for  the  oxen  stood  fur- 
ther up,  behind  wooden  pales.  An  old  negro,  who  was 
hoeing  at  a  stump-root,  hobbled  up  to  welcome  us. 
This  forlorn  shack  was  to  be  my  home  for  the  seven 
years  of  a  white  slave's  term  of  slavery. 

The  life  on  the  farm  was  hard.  I  worked,  gener- 
ally, fifteen  hours  a  day,  at  cutting  and  splitting  trees, 
digging  up  old  roots,  and  hauling  stones  off  the  cleared 
ground,  to  build  them  up  later  on  into  walls.  Carteret 
was  engaged  in  clearing  the  ground  for  his  fields.  He 
had  burnt  off  some  of  the  forest ;  but  burning  a  forest  is 
a  dangerous  and  wasteful  process.  He  was  going  to 
clear  the  rest  by  axe  and  hoe.  We  went  hunting  every 
Saturday,  and  generally  got  a  deer,  or  a  wild  cow,  or 
pig,  some  of  which  we  ate  during  the  week,  while  the 
rest  we  salted  or  dried  for  winter  use.  We  fished  in 
the  creek  for  weeks  together  in  the  spring,  when  the 
shad  were  running,  and  that  was  a  wild,  exciting.  Red 
Indian  kind  of  a  life ;  but  in  doing  it  for  a  living  one 
sees  only  the  labour  and  the  dirty,  wet  discomfort.  I 
did  not  like  it.     For  you  may  say  what  you  like  about 


40  LOST  EKDEAVOUR 

the  open  air.  I  say  that  man  was  made  for  something 
nobler  than  the  gutting  of  fish,  and  the  hanging  them 
up  to  dry  when  gutted.  And  though  it  was  certainly 
better  than  the  sea,  it  was  not  the  life  to  which  I  felt 
myself  called  by  my  own  capacity.  I  was  continually 
homesick,  too,  whenever  I  was  by  myself.  I  was  wor- 
rying about  my  father,  and  longing  for  the  talk  of  an 
English  lady.  Recollect  that  we  were  far  away  in 
the  wilds,  twenty-five  miles  from  another  settler.  A 
few  friendly  Indians,  and  an  occasional  tobacco  mer- 
chant from  James  Town,  were  the  only  people  we  saw, 
unless  Carteret,  feeling  the  forest  too  much  for  him, 
took  me  with  him  to  the  capital,  where  he  would  spend 
a  dreary  week,  drinking  and  playing  cards,  while  I 
looked  after  the  sloop.  Thus,  then,  two  years  passed. 
During  that  time  I  heard  no  news  from  England, 
nor  could  send  any  thither.  I  was  like  a  transplanted 
tree. 


VIII 

One  early  autumn,  when  the  leaves  were  beginning 
to  turn  to  the  colour  of  embers,  old  Carteret  fell  ill  of 
a  pain  in  the  leg.  He  bade  me  ride  out  to  an  elderly 
seaman  named  Duggan  (who  lived  forty  miles  away) 
to  get  a  salve;  for  this  Duggan  was  reckoned  a  pretty 
good  doctor  by  the  country  people.  Carteret  was  able 
to  stump  about,  so  that  there  was  no  danger  in  leaving 
him  alone ;  and  as  for  my  escaping,  there  was  no  chance 
of  that.     Anybody  who  caught  a  runaway  slave  was 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  41 

very  well  rewarded.  And  where  could  I  run  to  ?  Only 
into  the  woods  to  become  a  savage.  Or  to  some  wild 
gang  of  desperadoes  plundering  on  the  seas.  So  I 
caught  the  horse  and  saddled  him,  and  took  hobbles  for 
him  in  case  I  had  to  sleep  out.  I  also  took  a  blanket 
rolled  up  in  oiled  linen,  a  pistol,  a  bag  of  food,  and  a 
tin  can  full  of  water  for  my  own  refreshment.  Flint, 
steel,  tinder,  and  a  knife  I  always  carried.  I  did  not 
need  a  compass.  I  could  tell  the  time  by  the  sun,  and 
the  direction  too.  Carteret  gave  me  my  bearings  care- 
fully, for  I  did  not  know  the  road  for  more  than  twenty- 
five  miles  of  the  way. 

"  And  look  you  don't  get  lost,"  he  said,  "  for  some  of 
the  way  is  pretty  wild,  or  used  to  be.  And  watch  out 
for  snakes  and  Indians." 

When  I  had  gone  about  ten  miles  the  mail-rider 
hove  in  sight.  I  knew  the  man  pretty  well,  so  I  gave 
him  a  hail.  He  was  an  old  settler  named  Harrigan. 
People  generally  called  him  "  Scalpy,"  because  his 
scalp  had  been  lifted  in  some  raid.  He  used  to  ride 
around  with  the  mails  at  odd  times,  whenever  there 
were  any  to  bring.  He  and  I  were  very  good  friends. 
When  he  saw  who  it  was  he  turned  his  half-tamed  horse 
towards  me,  and  loped  up  alongside,  with  one  leg 
cocked  easily  over  the  pummel  and  the  other  trailing 
down.  He  sat  his  horse  (I  always  thought)  as  though 
he  were  really  a  part  of  it,  sprouted  through  the  saddle, 
I  think  that  he  was  partly  a  horse,  he  understood  them 
so  well ;  and  then  his  rather  dull  long  face  was  horsey, 
and  his  mind,   always  running  upon  horses,  had  de- 


42  LOST  EjSTDEAVOUK 

veloped  mania,  as  you  might  say.  He  looked  so  like  a 
horse  that  one  expected  him  to  whinny. 

"  Well,  you  young  rip,"  he  said,  "  where  are  you 
bound  for  ?  " 

I  told  him  that  I  was  going  to  Duggan's  to  get  salve. 
I  asked  for  news  of  the  world. 

"  Why,"  he  said,  "  there's  a  smuggler  ship  in  Small's 
Creek,  running  gear,  if  old  man  Carteret  wants  any. 
They've  nice  Europe  clothes  they  say,  and  very  good 
weapons.  You  might  tell  him  that  when  you  get  back. 
I  promised  the  smuggler  I'd  pass  the  word  along. 
Very  cheap  goods,  and  very  nice.  I  got  these  Spanish 
silver  bits  of  him.  Spanish  they  are.  They'd  stop  an 
alligator,  let  alone  a  pore  little  horse." 

"  They're  very  fine  bits,"  I  said.  "  They  set  your 
horse  off,  too." 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  they  give  him  a  smart  up.  But  I 
must  be  riding."  He  was  just  turning  away  when 
something  occurred  to  him.  "  See  here,  Charles,"  he 
said,  "  I  heard  back  the  road  a  piece  that  there  was  talk 
of  Indians  being  out.  I  don't  know  whether  it's  true, 
but  you  ride  careful.  Them  red  fellows  come  around 
before  you  know." 

I  promised  him  I  would  ride  carefully,  and  that  I 
would  pass  the  word  about  the  smugglers  among  the 
country  people.  Smugglers  came  to  the  coast  in  those 
days  pretty  often  to  get  rid  of  contraband  goods  at 
cheap  rates.  Most  of  their  goods  were  stolen  from  the 
Spaniards,  if  the  truth  were  known.  The  smugglers 
were  mostly  privateers  who  used  to  cruise  along  the 


CHARLES  HAEDING'S  STORY  43 

Spanish  coasts,  capturing  the  small  Spanish  coastwise 
traders.  Then  they  would  ply  along  Virginia,  getting 
rid  of  the  spoil  among  the  settlers  for  whatever  it  would 
fetch  in  cider,  apple-jack,  tobacco,  or  hides.  The  peo- 
ple who  bought  the  spoil  were  really  receivers  of  stolen 
goods;  but  then,  on  the  other  hand,  the  goods  were 
necessaries  of  life,  and  cheap.  "  Why,"  the  farmers 
argued,  "  should  we  send  the  smugglers  packing,  and 
make  long  journeys  to  James  To^vn  for  everything,  and 
buy  our  goods  in  James  Town  at  seven  times  the  price 
we  pay,  merely  to  enrich  a  London  merchant  and  to 
give  a  tax  to  the  king?"     They  could  never  see  why. 

The  Government  kept  a  frigate  cruising  off  the  coast, 
with  orders  to  capture  all  smugglers.  I  fancy  that  the 
Governor  wanted  really  to  stop  the  piracy,  about  which 
the  Spaniards  complained  bitterly,  as  well  they  might. 
The  smuggling  was  a  disposal  of  stolen  goods.  If  the 
frigate  destroyed  the  market  for  such  things,  she  de- 
stroyed the  profits  of  the  cruise,  and  therefore  indirectly 
the  crime  itself.  It  was  made  a  penal  offence  to  buy 
contraband.  But  there.  Things  go  on  among  the 
common  folk  of  which  governors  never  dream.  A 
smuggler  would  come  in  with  a  ship  there,  and  the 
word  would  go  about  the  country,  and  the  goods  would 
be  passed  ashore  and  sold,  and  the  ship  would  sail  be- 
fore any  sheriff  had  a  hint  of  her  being  there.  Those 
old  lawless  days  of  forty  years  ago  are  over  now.  It 
is  strange  to  reflect  that  I  saw  them  and  took  part  in 
them.     But  to  go  on  wnth  my  story. 

The  first  half  of  the  road  was  plain  sailing;  it  was 


44  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

when  I  got  into  unfamiliar  land  that  I  began  to  worry. 
I  was  riding  through  fairly  open  country,  all  gently 
rolling  in  little  hills  with  brooks  between  them,  and 
little  thick  clumps  of  timber  and  patches  of  bramble 
and  bog.  The  sun  was  hot,  and  Peter  kicked  up  the 
mosquitoes  till  my  neck,  in  spite  of  the  hog  fat  rubbed 
upon  it,  was  swollen  and  maddening.  Towards  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  as  I  broke  out  from  cover  on 
to  a  roll  of  savannah  land,  I  saw  smoke  among  a  patch 
of  timber  ahead,  and  that  made  me  draw  away  to  the 
shelter  of  a  clump  till  I  could  see  what  kind  of  smoke 
it  was.  I  knew  that  if  the  Indians  or  the  "  bad  men  " 
were  raiding  I  was  in  a  tightish  place.  I  was  out 
there  in  the  wilds,  on  a  tired  old  nag,  as  fat  as  butter 
from  summer  grass,  twenty  miles  from  the  nearest 
known  shelter.  I  hitched  Peter  to  a  tree  and  tied  a 
neckcloth  over  his  mouth,  so  that  he  shouldn't  squeal 
if  any  one  approached  him.  Then  I  loaded  my  pis- 
tol in  both  barrels,  with  two  bullets  in  each,  and  began 
to  crawl  forw^ard  under  cover  towards  the  clump  w^hence 
the  smoke  rose.  I  was  puzzled  by  the  smoke,  for  it 
was  daylight  and  hot  weather.  It  might  be  a  camp- 
fire  carelessly  left  alight  by  travellers;  but  that  was 
unlikely,  as  most  travellers  were  too  much  afraid  of 
setting  the  woods  on  fire  to  leave  anything  burning 
when  they  broke  camp.  It  might  be  a  woodsman 
boucanning,  or  "  drying "  his  kill  of  beef  or  venison 
over  a  fire ;  but  even  that  was  unlikely  in  a  land  where 
savage  Indians  still  raided  in  war  parties.     I  crept 


CHAKLES  HARDING'S  STORY  45 

away  cautiously  towards  it,  with  my  heart  in  my  mouth 
whenever  a  bird  gave  an  alarm  cry. 

Soon  I  came  to  the  border  of  my  clump.  To  get 
to  the  clump  where  the  smoke  rose  I  should  have  to 
wriggle  through  fifty  yards  of  bramble  and  long  grass, 
a  risky  business  at  the  best,  for  a  man  unused  to  the 
work  shakes  the  grass  so  badly,  besides  stirring  up 
every  snake  and  mosquito  in  his  path.  However, 
though  I  hated  the  thought  of  the  journey,  I  felt  that 
it  had  to  be  done.  I  watched  the  birds  in  the  smoky 
clump.  They  seemed  quiet  enough.  So,  with  a  gulp 
in  my  throat,  I  pushed  forward  through  the  grass.  I 
went  most  cautiously,  looking  sharp  ahead,  in  continual 
fear  of  putting  my  hand  on  a  rattle-snake.  The  birds 
in  the  tree-tops  twittered  and  chirped  reassuringly; 
but  I  was  conscious  of  making  a  swathe  in  the  grass 
big  enough  for  a  carriage  drive.  The  mosquitoes  set- 
tled on  me  in  swarms,  but  I  dared  not  lift  a  hand  to 
them.  As  I  crawled  I  kept  praying  that  no  Indian 
was  watching  me,  ready  to  shoot  me  directly  I  raised 
my  head.  I  got  through  twenty  yards,  then  thirty, 
then  forty,  without  once  peeping  up  above  the  grass 
tops.  At  my  fortieth  yard  I  stopped  dead,  full  of 
horror,  for  in  a  tangle  in  front  of  me  some  one  was 
singing  a  little  quiet  song,  that  was  low  like  laughter, 
and  every  now  and  again  louder.  It  was  an  Indian 
voice,  but  that  was  not  the  worst  of  it.  It  was  a  mad- 
man's voice.  Som.ewhere  in  the  grass  beyond  me  a 
mad  Indian  was  laughing  and  singing  to  himself.     I 


46  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

gave  myself  up  for  lost,  but  I  knew  that  to  turn  back 
or  to  lie  still  would  be  worse  than  to  go  forward.  The 
sweat  of  terror  was  dripping  off  me  on  to  my  hands. 
I  had  my  pistol  wavering  about  like  a  conductor's 
baton. 

I  do  not  think  that  I  could  have  turned.  Great  ter- 
ror sometimes  lures  one  forward,  just  as  a  little  scare 
will  set  you  scampering.  I  was  not  brave  about  it. 
Only  I  had  the  feeling  that  I  ought  to  face  it.  It 
was  partly  the  feeling  that  it  would  be  terrible  to  be 
run  down  by  a  mad  Indian,  after  a  rush  through  the 
long  grass  with  the  war-whoop  ringing  out  behind  me. 
So  I  pushed  forward  one  length,  then  another,  then 
a  third,  till  I  was  peering  through  the  grass-stalks  at 
something  which  lay  beyond,  in  a  dip  of  the  land. 
Now,  directly  I  looked  through  the  grass  clump,  I  saw 
that  my  mad  Indian  was  nothing  but  a  chuckling 
spring,  which  gurgled  out  of  a  pool,  over  a  few  peb- 
bles, and  away  into  a  marshy  tract,  intensely  green, 
where  the  mud  turtles  would  have  been  happy.  But 
although  my  Indian  was  gone,  there  was  something  dis- 
quieting instead  of  him.  There  was  a  dead  wild  steer 
lying  beyond  the  pool,  about  twenty  yards  from  me. 
Two  men,  with  their  backs  towards  me,  were  bent  over 
his  body,  stripping  off  the  hide.  There  was  nothing 
in  that,  you  will  say,  to  disquiet  any  one.  Perhaps 
not.  But  one  of  these  men  was  dressed  in  a  strange 
outlandish  way,  with  a  turban  and  sash,  while  the 
other  wore  Spanish  clothes,  very  rich  with  silver.  I 
knew  from  the  clothes  that  the  men  were  not  planters. 


CHAKLES  HAEDING'S  STOKY  47 

Since  they  were  not  planters,  I  argued  that  they  were 
men  to  be  avoided.  They  could  either  be  the  "  bad 
men "  (the  renegade  slaves  who  had  taken  to  the 
woods  to  live,  like  the  Indians,  by  hunting  and  by 
raids  upon  the  settlers),  in  which  case  I  was  as  good 
as  dead;  or  they  could  be  the  smugglers  hunting  for 
beef.  The  smugglers  I  knew  would  not  be  likely  to 
kill  me,  but  I  knew  that  they  might  seize  me  and  sell 
me  into  slavery.  They  were  good  friends  with  the  set- 
tlers; that  was  all  very  well,  the  settlers  bought  their 
goods  from  them.  But  a  settler's  slave  was  a  no-ac- 
count person,  with  neither  money  nor  friends;  and 
these  rough  hulking  villains,  as  I  knew  only  too  well, 
would  steal  a  man's  slave  in  order  to  sell  him  else- 
where, just  as  readily  as  they  would  chew  tobacco. 

Presently  the  Spanish-looking  man,  tired  of  stoop- 
ing, dropped  his  knife  and  stood  up  to  stretch  him- 
self. He  yawned  and  turned  round,  so  that  I  could 
see  the  earrings  in  both  of  his  ears.  For  a  few  sec- 
onds he  looked  straight  at  me;  but  as  I  was  a  little 
above  him  and  well  covered,  he  could  not  see  me.  I 
told  myself  that  he  could  not  see  my  track  in  the 
grass  behind  me.  I  took  a  careful  aim  at  him,  and 
waited,  while  my  heart  thumped  upon  my  throat  with 
great  pants. 

After  a  short  rest,  and  the  biting  off  of  a  fresh  quid 
of  tobacco,  the  man  picked  up  his  knife  and  went  on 
with  his  work.  I  wanted  to  see  his  companion's  face, 
but  as  he  was  bent  over  the  beef  I  could  not.  I  no- 
ticed that,  whoever  these  people  were,  they  were  very 


48  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

well  used  to  taking  the  hide  off  a  cow.  Presently 
the  brush  of  the  thicket  beyond  them  was  thrust  aside, 
and  out  came  half  a  dozen  other  men.  They  were  all 
rather  richly  dressed,  like  this  first  man,  but  they  had 
the  gait  and  look  of  seamen.  Two  of  them  were  ne- 
groes, two  were  swarthy,  olive-coloured,  stockily-built 
men  (these  I  took  to  be  Spaniards).  The  others, 
though  darkly  dressed,  looked  like  Englishmen.  An 
Indian  in  English  dress  came  after  them  at  some  lit- 
tle distance,  carrying  a  long  scalp-lock,  such  as  so  many 
of  the  woodsmen  wore.  I  pressed  myself  into  the  grass 
while  they  came  forward.  I  had  not  much  hope  of 
escaping  observation;  but  I  realised  that  the  stream 
kept  them  from  walking  into  my  hiding-place.  Still  I 
could  not  make  out  what  they  were.  They  were  not 
the  "  bad  men  "  of  the  woods,  for  the  bad  men  wore 
clothes  suited  for  woodland  life;  they  were  not  In- 
dians, they  were  apparently  sailors.  If  they  were  sail- 
ors, come  for  fresh  meat,  then  they  could  be  nothing 
but  smugglers,  which  is  as  much  as  to  say  pirates. 
Such  people  would  probably  be  without  horses,  and  if 
so,  I  argued  to  myself,  I  could  get  away  on  Peter.  I 
prayed  that  they  might  soon  turn  back  to  the  copse,  so 
that  I  could  go  back  to  my  horse. 

Instead  of  that  they  gathered  unconcernedly  about 
the  cow,  drew  out  their  machetes  or  long  knives,  and 
fell  to  at  the  flaying  and  quartering.  The  man  in  the 
turban  produced  a  ball  of  spun-yarn,  with  which  they 
made  handles  or  straps  for  the  joints  of  meat  as  they 
hacked  them  off.     Another  man,  flinging  out  the  hide 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  49 

towards  me,  just  as  a  housewife  flings  down  a  door- 
mat, gave  it  a  last  scrape  before  folding  it  and  put- 
ting it  on  his  head.  They  were  talking  to  each  other 
all  this  while,  partly  in  Spanish.  As  far  as  I  could 
make  out,  the  man  in  the  turban  was  a  sort  of  officer 
among  them. 

After  a  few  minutes  of  talk,  during  which  they  lit 
their  pipes,  they  shouldered  the  meat,  and  began  to 
walk  slowly  away  from  me  towards  the  trees.  There 
was  something  about  the  walk  of  the  turbaned  man 
which  seemed  familiar,  but  I  could  not  remember  where 
I  had  seen  anything  like  it.  I  remember  that  it  seemed 
uncanny  to  me.  It  was  as  though  I  had  been  through 
all  this  long  before  in  a  nightmare,  and  that  now  it  was 
come  true. 

The  Indian  remained  behind  longer  than  the  others 
to  take  the  cow's  tongue,  which  had  been  forgotten.  I 
kept  breathlessly  still  while  he  did  this,  for  I  had 
heard  terrible  tales  of  the  sharpness  of  an  Indian's 
senses.  My  heart  thumped  horribly.  I  felt  so  sure 
that  the  Indian  would  see  me  through  the  tall  stalks 
of  the  grass.  My  legs  were  numbed  with  long  lying 
cramped.  My  arms  ached  intolerably.  I  had  the  In- 
dian covered.  My  fingers  were  pressing  on  the  trigger. 
My  plan  was  to  shoot  the  Indian  and  run  for  it,  if 
he  caught  sight  of  me.  At  every  second  his  friends 
drew  nearer  the  thicket.  In  ten  steps  more  they  would 
be  hidden  from  me.  The  chance  of  escape  became  al- 
most a  certainty.  Even  now,  if  I  had  to  kill  this  man 
and  run,  I  felt  that  I  could  win  to  the  further  cover 


50  LOST  EITDEAVOUR 

before  they  could  open  fire  with  any  chance  of  hitting 
me.  If  I  could  win  to  the  cover  unhurt,  I  made  sure 
of  getting  away  on  Peter,  who  by  this  time  would  be 
well  rested.  At  this  moment  the  Indian  straightened 
himself,  hitched  the  scalp  under  his  belt  as  a  sailor 
hitches  ropeyarn,  and  looked  out  over  the  countryside 
under  the  sharp  of  his  hand.  He  was  a  fine,  straight, 
splendidly  built  man,  with  a  broad  brown  face  and 
cheeks  suffused  with  scarlet.  I  have  seldom  seen  a 
grander  man.  He  must  have  been  six  feet  six  in 
height.  His  intensity  of  gaze,  the  sharpness  of  the 
hooked  nose,  and  the  immobility  of  his  figure  as  he 
looked,  made  me  think  him  a  great  human  eagle.  All 
the  faculties  of  his  nature  were  concentrated  on  his  ex- 
amination of  the  land.  His  face  was  without  other  ex- 
pression than  that  of  merciless  scrutiny.  I  understood 
by  looking  at  him  how  the  hawk  looks  and  feels  when 
he  poises  above  a  field  for  mice.  When  he  stood  up  his 
left  side  was  turned  to  me,  he  was  looking  due  west. 
To  his  right  side  lay  the  copse  to  which  his  friends 
were  walking.  He  did  not  look  in  that  direction.  He 
slowly  turned  round  towards  me,  scanning  the  whole 
countryside,  as  he  had  learned  in  his  childhood,  before 
he  had  taken  up  with  the  whites.  Slowly  he  turned, 
till  he  was  looking  straight  over  my  head,  along  my 
track  in  the  grass.  I  was  gazing,  as  it  seemed,  right 
into  his  eyes,  and  yet  no  hint  of  having  seen  me  showed 
in  his  face.  He  had  not  seen  me.  His  gaze  had  a 
raptness  in  it,  as  though  he  were  in  some  dream  of  the 
long  ago,  when  perhaps  he  had  hunted  and  camped 


CHARLES  HARDmG'S  STORY  51 

among  these  woods  with  the  braves  of  his  tribe.  He 
turned  at  last,  without  a  sound,  and  began  to  walk 
swiftly  towards  the  copse,  though  in  a  track  rather  to 
the  right  of  those  followed  by  his  friends.  I  knew  then 
that  he  was  following  a  rule  of  the  Red  men,  who 
never  return  by  the  track  by  which  they  come.  Still 
I  dared  not  stir.  He  would  have  heard  me  had  I 
moved.  I  watched  his  feet  moving  softly  and  swiftly 
in  the  grass.  Suddenly,  even  while  I  watched,  the  man 
disappeared  as  completely  as  if  the  earth  had  swallowed 
him.  I  could  not  believe  my  eyes.  He  had  gone. 
There  was  no  marshy  patch  near,  he  had  not  fallen 
into  a  slough.  He  had  vanished  in  some  shortish  gTass 
not  tall  enough  to  hide  a  child.  I  watched  for  a  full 
minute,  trying  to  see  what  had  happened  to  him,  but 
I  could  see  nothing;  he  had  vanished.  From  some- 
where in  the  copse  the  laugh  of  a  startled  woodpecker 
clattered.  Just  beneath  me  some  of  the  cow's  corpse 
fell  over  on  its  side  with  a  dull  flop.  I  had  had  enough 
of  that  place.  I  swung  round  gingerly,  and  began  to 
crawl  away  with  a  mighty  sick  feeling  in  my  heart  lest 
the  cow's  carcass  should  come  crawling  after  me,  with 
fumbling  hops.  I  did  not  intend  to  break  a  new  track 
in  the  grass.  I  was  going  to  get  back  to  Peter  just  as 
quickly  as  I  could. 

ITow  there  is  a  great  deal  of  difference  between  fac- 
ing an  enemy  and  running  from  him.  When  you  face 
him,  however  sick  at  heart  you  may  be,  you  have  the 
worst  before  you,  and  know  when  it  is  going  to  strike. 
When  you  run  from  him  you  imagine  the  worst,  and 


52  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

that  is  much  more  terrible.  So  it  was  with  me  now. 
I  had  not  gone  ten  yards  before  my  fear  of  being  taken 
by  these  men  took  hold  of  me  and  shook  me.  I  stood 
up,  wheeling  round  to  see  if  any  one  really  was  com- 
ing after  me;  and,  after  one  startled  glance  behind 
me,  I  ran  down  my  track  to  cover  like  a  bull  running 
from  a  fire.  At  the  same  instant  a  big  man,  riding 
on  Peter,  burst  through  the  cover  before  me  without 
seeing  me,  and  a  voice  shouted  "  Coje  usted "  from 
somewhere  behind  me.  Something  whistled  over  my 
head,  and  jerked  round  my  throat  with  a  rattling  knock 
upon  my  nose.  I  felt  myself  spun  round  from  be- 
hind. I  could  just  see  the  figure  of  the  Indian  rising 
up  out  of  the  grass  at  my  back  within  seven  yards  of 
me,  and  had  time  to  fire  at  him  blindly  before  I  was 
flung  heavily  to  the  ground.  As  I  fell,  my  second  bar- 
rel went  off  into  the  air. 

I  realised  that  I  had  been  lazoed ;  that  I  must  draw 
my  knife  at  once.  I  was  not  so  flurried  that  I  could 
not  think.  I  was  groping  for  my  knife  to  cut  the  rope 
when  the  Indian  swooped  down  on  me.  He  flung  a 
rope  about  me  as  swiftly  as  a  spider  spins  round  a 
wasp.  He  lashed  me  up,  as  one  lashes  a  hammock, 
with  marling  turns,  so  that  I  could  not  move  my  arms. 
I  was  a  helpless  bundle  before  my  knife  was  out  of 
its  sheath.  Then  the  man  who  was  riding  on  Peter 
rode  up  to  have  a  look  at  me.  He  too  was  richly 
dressed,  like  the  others.  He  was  so  big  that  his  feet 
almost  touched  the  ground.  He  was  so  fierce-looking 
that  had  he  gone  on  all  fours  the  cattle  would  have 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  53 

taken  him  for  a  panther.  He  had  the  flattened  brow 
and  the  pale,  evil  eye  of  the  panther.  If  he  had  been 
beautiful  he  would  have  been  very  like  a  panther. 

"  Que  tal  ? "  he  said,  staring  at  me  in  amazement. 
Then  raising  his  voice,  he  hailed  the  rest  of  them. 
"  Ahoya,  mis  amigos,"  he  shouted.     "  Ahoya." 

In  about  a  minute  I  heard  the  feet  of  the  others 
coming  through  the  grass.  I  heard  their  voices.  One 
voice  was  saying,  in  English,  that  Hunko  had  roped 
somebody.  Another  answered  that  it  must  be  a  bear, 
since  nobody  could  be  within  miles  of  them.  I  did  not 
see  them,  at  once.  I  was  on  the  ground,  staring  up  at 
Hunko,  who  looked  at  me  with  something  in  his  face 
like  —  I  will  not  call  it  pity  or  sympathy,  but  interest. 
I  fancy  he  thought  that  I  was  a  game  young  cock  to 
have  fired  at  such  a  great  brave  as  himself. 

Other  faces  stared  down  at  me.  They  formed  a 
ring  about  me,  puzzled  at  my  sudden  appearance  among 
them.  "  Ask  Theo,"  said  one  of  them.  "  Come  and 
look,  Theo,"  said  another.  The  man  in  the  turban 
shouldered  through  the  group  and  looked  at  me.  He 
was  tanned  to  a  yellowy  brown  like  the  rest  of  us. 
The  queer  whitish-brown  clothes  which  he  wore  made 
him  look  like  a  sort  of  Hindu.  But  it  was  Little  Theo. 
I  should  have  known  him  had  he  been  dressed  in  woad. 
He  was  older  and  wilder  looking,  that  was  the  only  dif- 
ference. I,  who  had  grown  a  great  deal  in  every  way 
since  our  last  meeting,  was  not  so  easy  to  recognise. 
My  first  impulse  was  to  cry  out,  "  Why,  it's  Little 
Theo."     Then  I  remembered  that  he  was  a  master,  and 


54  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

that  I  must  be  respectful.     It  was  queer  that  I  should 
think  of  that  at  such  a  time. 


IX 

"  Don't  you  know  me,  Mr.  Mora  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Why,  it's  Charles  Harding,"  he  said.  "Yes,  of 
course.  Let  him  up,  Hunko.  Well,  Charles  Harding, 
and  what  is  the  present  subjunctive  of  aimer?  " 

Hunko  let  me  up,  and  I  rose  and  shook  his  hand. 
I  think  that  that  moment  made  up  for  pretty  nearly 
all  the  miseries  of  the  past.  Here  was  my  old  friend 
to  talk  and  consult  with;  here  was  the  old  life  come 
back. 

"  But  what  brought  you  here,  sir  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Why,"  he  answered,  "  that's  a  long  tale  for  one 
time.  But  come  along ;  I'll  tell  you  as  we  go.  Pick  up 
your  meat,  boys,  and  shove  ahead." 

"  Bueno !  "  "  Muy  bien !  "  "  Un  amigo !  "  "  Met 
in  the  old  country !  "  said  the  others,  as  they  turned. 
One  of  them,  a  rough-looking  Englishman,  asked  me 
whether  I  had  any  objection  to  letting  my  horse  "  toat  " 
the  meat.  They  did  not  wait  for  my  permission,  but 
slung  the  joints  upon  Peter.  One  of  them  led  the  old 
horse  when  we  set  out  together,  in  an  easterly  direction, 
towards  the  Atlantic  coast. 

Little  Theo  did  not  speak  to  me  for  some  time.  As 
we  walked  on  together  I  had  leisure  to  observe  him. 
I  did  this  shyly,  for  I  had  not  been  able  to  overcome 


CHAELES  HARDING'S  STOEY  55 

mj  awe  of  liim.  One  would  have  thought  that  his 
presence  there  among  the  pirates,  dressed  like  a  Hindu, 
would  have  removed  all  suggestion  of  a  master  from 
him.  It  was  not  so.  He  was  in  command  of  these 
men;  and  then  he  had  always  a  dignity  about  him 
which  made  people  stand  off  until  they  were  invited 
to  approach.  What  I  remarked  about  him  was  a  cer- 
tain wildness  and  strangeness  of  manner  which  I  had 
never  before  noticed  in  him.  I  put  it  down  to  the 
sufferings  through  which  he  must  have  passed;  but  it 
gave  me  uneasiness,  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  his 
brain  was  turning.  Something  in  his  eye  made  me 
think  that. 

"  Charles,"  he  said  at  last,  "  are  you  still  a  slave  ?  " 
"  Yes,  sir,"  I  answered ;  "  I  shall  be  a  slave  for  four 
years  more." 

"  And  then  you  will  plant  tobacco,  I  suppose  ?  " 
"  If  I  can't  get  home  somehow.     But  I  can't  get 
home  without  money." 

"  Cannot  you  escape  from  your  master  ? " 
"  If  I  were  to  run  away  I  should  only  get  among 
pirates  or  bad  men.     And  if  I  were  caught,  I  should  be 
flogged,  and  then  branded  in  the  face." 

"  Would  you  care  to  come  with  me  ?  I  am  navigator 
in  a  smuggling  ship.  I  am  in  a  gang  of  smugglers. 
That  is  to  say,  they  are  not  so  much  smugglers  as  pi- 
rates. They  are  really  privateers,  who  come  here  to  sell 
their  booty." 

"  Oh,  sir,"  I  said,  with  a  sinking  heart. 

"  !N^ot  from  my  own  choice,"  he  said,  smiling  at  my 


56  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

trouble.  "  I  am  here  by  necessity,  like  yourself.  And 
do  not  judge  them  too  harshly:  they  saved  my  life. 
Come  with  me.  We  shall  keep  each  other  company.  I 
shall  be  able  to  look  after  you." 

"  But  what  shall  I  become,  sir  ?  " 

"  You  needn't  become  a  pirate,"  he  answered,  smil- 
ing. "  I'll  see  to  that.  But  if  you  are  away  from 
this  life,  going  about  the  world,  you  will  at  least  have 
more  chance  of  getting  home.  I'm  just  as  anxious  to 
reach  home  as  you  are." 

"  Isn't  it  a  frightful  risk,  sir,  smuggling  ?  "  I  asked. 
I  had  been  a  slave  for  two  years,  and  something  of  the 
slave  soul  was  in  me.  "  There's  a  frigate  on  the  coast. 
And  if  I  were  caught  I  should  be  branded." 

"  We  are  going  to  Jamaica,"  he  answered.  "  In 
Jamaica  there  may  be  ships  going  to  England,  if  we 
want  to  go  to  England.  I  am  a  navigator,  and  there  is 
always  a  demand  for  navigators.  I  could  get  you  in 
with  me  perhaps." 

My  heart  leapt  at  the  prospect  of  getting  to  Eng- 
land ;  but  even  so,  I  was  afraid  of  this  going  with  the 
pirates,  and  terribly  afraid  of  running  from  Carteret. 
I  had  known  one  or  two  poor  men  who  had  run  from 
their  masters,  and  been  taken.  They  had  been  tied  up 
to  a  tree  and  beaten  with  thongs,  and  then  branded  like 
heifers  with  red-hot  irons,  so  that  for  all  their  lives  to 
come  people  would  shrink  from  them.  Then  there 
came  the  thought  that  if  I  went  I  should  be  with  a 
friend  who  would  save  me  from  this;  and  again  the 
thought  of  England  came>  overwhelming  me.     England 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  57 

had  been  a  want  gnawing  at  my  heart  for  all  these 
months.  She  had  been  something  glorious,  very  far 
away  —  something  longed  for,  but  impossible.  It  had 
been  a  horror  to  me  to  think  that  I  might  die  without 
revisiting  England. 

"  Yes,  you  must  certainly  come,"  said  Little  Theo 
calmly.     "  That  is  evidently  the  rightest  thing." 

"  But  how  about  Peter  ?  "  I  asked.  "  He  belongs  to 
my  master.     He  would  think  that  I  had  stolen  him." 


X 

Before  Theo  could  answer,  the  Indian  Hunko,  who 
had  been  walking  a  little  ahead  of  the  group,  stopped 
and  held  up  a  hand.  We  all  stopped,  and  looked  about 
us.  We  were  close  to  a  pretty  big  copse  or  thicket, 
which  shut  us  in  from  the  west.  When  we  stopped  I 
thought  that  the  Indian  had  caught  the  scent  of  wild 
cattle.  The  others  thought  so  too.  They  drew  their 
pistols,  and  began  to  edge  noiselessly  into  line. 

"  What  is  it,  Hunko  ?  "  said  Theo,  in  a  very  low  voice. 
"Is  it  beef?" 

The  Indian  listened  intently,  and  then  with  a  swift 
gesture  said,  "  Abajo.  Down,"  in  his  guttural  Span- 
ish. At  that  instant  Peter,  looking  up  and  pawing  for- 
ward a  step  or  two,  whinnied  loudly  at  something  un- 
seen, evidently  at  some  little  distance.  The  Indian 
sank  down  into  the  grass  and  disappeared,  as  he  had 
disappeared  before  when  he  had  first  caught  sight  of 


58  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

me.  I  don't  know  how  they  do  it.  They  begin  to 
learn  when  they  are  tiny.  It  is  partly  natural  to  them, 
of  course,  from  long  generations  of  practice,  but  it  is 
wonderful  all  the  same.  It  shows  such  absolute  power 
of  the  will  over  the  motions  of  the  muscles,  and  such 
subordination  of  the  person  to  the  intention.  We  others 
dropped  down  too,  like  men  used  to  frontier  life.  A 
negro  near  me  lifted  his  head  and  whispered,  "  Dos 
caballos  "  (Two  horses). 

Laying  my  ear  to  the  ground,  in  the  Indian  way,  I 
caught  the  drumming  of  hoofs  upon  the  savannah.  The 
panther-man,  nudging  the  man  next  to  him,  asked  for 
the  loan  of  a  ramrod.  The  minutes  passed  heavily;  T 
thought  that  the  end  would  never  come.  Suddenly 
from  over  the  copse  end  came  the  high,  wild,  melan- 
choly crying  of  a  wolf.  I  had  heard  the  noise  often 
enough,  but  the  clear  dying-away  anguish  of  it  had 
never  thrilled  me  so  before.  Little  Theo,  lifting  his 
head,  answered  the  call  cleverly,  but  in  a  way  which 
would  not  have  deceived  me  had  I  been  out  in  the 
"wilds.  I  knew  the  cries  of  the  savage  creatures  as  well 
as  they  knew  them  themselves.  An  instant  afterwards 
the  drumming  of  the  horse-hoofs  stopped,  and  a  long 
wailing  wolf-call,  evidently  the  work  of  a  human  throat, 
came  from  the  savannah. 

"  Es  Restitute,"  said  one  of  the  men. 

"  ISTo,"  said  another. 

"  It  is  Dick  and  Giles." 

The  pirates  stood  up  again.  The  Indian  was  back 
among  us,  merely  remarking  "  Amigos,"  as  he  knocked 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  59 

the  dust  from  his  robes  and  took  a  look  along  the 
horizon.  Then  came  hails,  shouts  (both  rather  anxious, 
I  thought),  and  the  straining  noise  of  harness-leather 
as  the  horses  galloped  up.  The  horses  had  been  cruelly 
ridden,  and  that  showed  me  that  the  riders,  whoever 
they  were,  were  in  some  desperate  panic,  besides  being 
ignorant  of  the  ways  of  us  woodsmen,  who  know  how 
to  ride  a  horse  all  day,  at  a  good  steady  lope,  without 
breaking  his  heart.  The  men  swung  themselves  off 
their  horses  clumsily.  They  were  pretty  stiff  and  sore 
from  the  gallop,  having  ridden  little  probably  for  some 
years. 

One  of  them  was  a  heavy  lout  of  a  man,  with  a  bru- 
tish face.  The  other  was  of  a  different  type.  He  had 
a  bright,  intelligent  face,  with  frank  eyes.  The  only 
want  in  his  look  was  a  certain  easy-going  looseness  about 
his  mouth.  One  felt  that  here  was  a  good  companion, 
without  the  means  of  judging  whether  others  were 
worthy  companions.  This  one  advanced  towards  us, 
letting  the  other  hold  the  horses.  He  had  a  face  full  of 
trouble,  which  made  me  wonder  for  the  moment  whether 
the  Indians  were  up. 

"  See  here,  mister,"  he  said  to  Little  Theo.  "  Listen, 
you  others ;  come  round  here." 

"  What  is  it,  Dick  ?  Give  her  sheet,"  said  the 
others. 

"About  Captain  Pointer,"  said  Dick.  "He's  left 
us.     He's  taken  the  pick  of  the  crew  and  left  us." 

"Left  the  ship?"  said  Little  Theo.  "Or  left  us 
without  the  ship  ?  " 


60  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

"  Left  the  ship,"  said  Dick. 

"  Oh,"  said  Little  Theo  calmly.  "  Gone  away  ? 
And  who  has  gone  with  him  i  " 

"  Twenty-five,  all  told,"  said  Dick.  "  All  he  could 
take,  in  fact." 

"Really,"  said  Little  Theo.  "But  I  don't  under- 
stand.    Why  has  he  gone  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Dick,  "  I  leave  that  to  you,  mister," 

"  But  why  ?  "  Little  Theo  asked. 

"  It  was  something  to  do  with  you,  mister,"  said 
Dick  — "  something  about  Boca  Drago  —  the  island 
where  we  found  you.  He  said  there  was  a  mystery 
somewhere." 

"  Has  he  gone  to  Boca  Drago,  then  ?  " 

"  Restitute  said  that  that  was  the  plan,  as  far  as  he 
could  make  out.  He  had  malaria  bad,  Restituto.  He 
was  turned  in,  and  heard  them  talking  about  it." 

"  Heard  who  talking  about  it  ?  " 

"  Captain  Pointer  and  the  others.  You  see,  Cap, 
there  was  some  young  sparks  came  into  the  creek  with 
one  of  those  turtle-schooners,  the  Lone  Fortune.  We 
were  in  Charlestown  with  her,  if  you  remember.  Cap- 
tain Pointer  was  very  thick  with  the  young  sparks 
aboard  her." 

"  Yes,  I  remember.  And  so  he  has  gone  with  them. 
Why?" 

"  She  was  a  swift  little  ship,"  said  Dick  musingly ; 
"  and  I  gather  that  the  game  was  to  get  to  the  island 
in  a  hurry.  You  see,  Cap,  begging  your  pardon,  it  was 
all  fixed  up  between  them.     Captain  Pointer  suspected 


CHAELES  HARDING'S  STORY  61 

there  was  treasure  in  that  island.  When  you  had  the 
fever  aboard  us  you  talked  a  lot  about  gold.  There 
was  a  lot  of  gold,  you  kept  saying  —  a  golden  church  or 
something.  You  know  the  truth  of  that,  better  than 
I  do." 

"Well?" 

"  So  Captain  Pointer  got  you  away  beef-hunting 
here,  and  examined  some  papers  you  had  —  a  book  and 
that.  Restituto  says  that  it  was  a  picture  book,  and 
that  it  said  where  the  gold  was." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"Well,  that's  all.  Cap.  He  thought  he'd  go  raise 
the  gold." 

"  And  why  didn't  you  go  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Dick  promptly,  "  I've  a  mournful  pas- 
sion for  the  beauty  of  your  mug,  Cap.  So  I  stayed. 
Besides,  Doggy  Sam  sent  me  out  with  some  of  the 
others  to  truck  for  cider.  I  didn't  know  anything  about 
it  till  they  had  gone.  They  sailed  yesterday  evening 
before  sunset." 

Here  one  of  the  men  broke  in  to  say  that  if  there 
really  were  gold  in  the  island,  we  could  go  in  chase, 
beat  them,  get  there  before  them,  and  lift  the  gold 
for  ourselves.  That  was  the  plain  sense  of  it,  he 
said. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick.  "  But  Captain  Pointer  thought 
of  that.  He  took  our  sails  with  him,  and  most  of  our 
grub,  as  well  as  the  boat  and  anchors.  It  won't  be  so 
easy  to  go  after  him.  Besides,  the  ship's  a  wreck  any- 
way." 


62  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

"  Ah,"  said  Little  Theo,  in  a  strange  voice.  "  Well, 
let  us  get  on  board,  and  see  wbat  may  be  done." 

"  Begging  your  pardon,  mister,"  said  Dick.  "  The 
hands  want  me  to  say  that  they  hope  you  won't  leave 
us.  You're  the  only  one  of  us  who  can  navigate.  We 
should  be  in  a  mess  if  you  were  to  leave  us  too."  He 
looked  hard  at  Theo's  face  to  see  whether  there  were 
any  signs  of  compliance.  It  was  an  expressionless  face 
at  the  moment,  but  a  good  deal  paler  than  it  had  been. 
It  was  pale,  as  I  thought,  from  anxiety,  and  from  a  de- 
termination not  to  be  anxious.  What  all  this  talk  of 
the  island  and  gold  might  be  I  could  not  imagine.  I 
only  said  to  myself  that  Little  Theo's  going  on  the 
"  grand  tour  "  had  led  to  more  adventures  than  had 
come  to  me.  I  had  a  sense,  too,  that  they  had  coarsened 
and  hardened  him.  He  looked  and  spoke  like  a  very 
different  man  from  the  fine  young  man  who  had  bought 
a  new  wig  that  day  at  Deptford. 

"  You'll  remember,  mister,"  said  Dick  pleadingly, 
"  that  it  was  us  who  brought  you  off  that  island." 

"I  remember,"  said  theo.  "Tell  me.  Did  Cap- 
tain Pointer  send  word  to  the  Sheriff  about  us  ?  " 

"  My  hat,  mister,"  said  Dick.  "  I  never  thought  of 
that.     I  don't  know.  Cap.     Very  likely  he  done." 

"  What  ?  "  said  one  or  two  of  the  others.  "  Peach  on 
us !     Give  us  away  to  the  Sheriff  ?  " 

"  Nothing  more  likely,"  said  Theo.  "  We  must  get 
out  of  here.  The  first  thing  to  do  is  to  get  on  board, 
and  see  what  we  can  do."  He  turned  to  me,  and  shoved 
me  towards  Dick  by  the  scruff  of  my  neck. 


CHARLES  HAEDING'S  STORY  63 

"  Here,  Don  Ricardo,"  he  said.  "  This  is  our  new 
recruit.  This  was  a  friend  of  mine  in  the  old  country. 
I'm  going  to  take  him  home." 

"  Right,"  said  Dick,  shaking  hands  with  me.  "  Now 
we'd  better  shove  ahead,  pronto.  And  as  for  you,  my 
son,  you  shall  be  an  admiral."  I  did  not  want  to  be 
an  admiral  (of  that  kind),  for  I  hated  the  sea  and 
everything  in  it,  and  the  kind  of  life  produced  by  it ;  but 
I  thought  to  myself  that  Little  Theo  was  the  captain  of 
these  men,  and  in  command  of  a  ship,  and  that  England 
was  distant  only  a  month's  sail,  four  weeks,  twenty-eight 
days,  or  less  if  the  wind  held.  Some  scruples  about  Pe- 
ter, and  old  Carteret's  sore  leg,  still  held  me. 

"  Please,  Mr.  Mora,"  I  said,  "  my  master's  leg  is 
bad." 

"  It  will  get  better,"  he  answered  coldly. 

"  A  lad  of  tender  heart,"  said  one  of  the  Spaniards. 

"  Bueno,"  said  the  others,  when  my  remarks  had 
been  translated  to  them.  "  Bueno  joven."  They 
looked  at  me  as  if  I  were  some  rare  bird,  as  if  good- 
ness were  stuck  about  me  like  feathers.  Dick  clapped 
me  on  the  shoulder  and  took  my  arm.  We  struck  the 
trail  of  the  horses,  and  set  off  eastward  to  the  ship. 
Hunko,  riding  forward,  looked  out  for  danger. 


XI 

Towards  dark  we  sat  for  a  short  while  to  rest ;  for 
the  pace  was  telling  on  us.     I  was  tired;  but  Dick 


64  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

told  me  that  it  was  only  a  matter  of  another  mile  or 
so,  so  I  bore  up.  As  we  were  about  to  start  again, 
Hunko  the  Indian,  who  had  been  looking  out  as  we 
rested,  held  up  a  hand  for  silence,  and  signalled  to  Dick 
to  cover  the  horses'  mouths.  He  did  so  instantly,  with- 
out waiting  to  ask  why.  Little  Theo,  crawling  forward, 
asked  in  a  whisper  what  the  trouble  was. 

"  War-party,"  said  Hunko,  "  a  war-party  on  a  foray." 

"  Where  ?  "  said  Little  Theo. 

The  Indain  pointed  to  a  mound  dimly  to  be  seen 
half  a  mile  ahead. 

"  Camped  for  the  night,  I  reckon,"  said  Dick. 
"  There's  a  fire,  and  they  wouldn't  light  a  fire  unless 
they  were  going  home.  I  reckon  we  are  cut  off  from  the 
sea,  captain.     They're  dead  in  our  path." 

"  Yes,"  said  Little  Theo.  "  Creo  que  si.  I  would 
know  what  it  is  they  want,  and  how  many  they  are, 
and  whether  they  have  seen  us.  Hunko,  you  must  go 
and  see  them." 

"  I've  heard  tell,"  said  Giles  slowly,  as  Hunko  crept 
away  into  the  gloom,  "  that  Injuns  coming  home  from 
a  raid  split  up  into  bunches." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick.  "  But  if  that  gang  see  that  we've 
got  horses,  they'll  try  to  wrastle  them,  no  matter  how 
small  the  bunch  is.  'Now,  there's  a  clump  of  hill  there. 
Let's  get  up  it,  so  as  to  have  a  bit  of  a  position  any- 
way. There's  a  brook  running  down  at  the  foot  there. 
One  of  us'll  lay  down  and  get  our  water  bottles  filled, 
and  then  we'll  be  ready  for  them." 

Silently  we  '"ept  away  towards  the  little  knoll,  lead- 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  65 

ing  the  horses.  It  rose  up  in  the  twilight  like  a  small 
inverted  bowl  of  earth,  not  more  than  a  hundred  feet 
high,  and  no  bigger  at  the  top  than  a  tennis-court.  I 
do  not  know  what  the  other  men  thought.  Probably 
they  knew  too  little  about  Indians  to  realise  their  dan- 
ger. But  I,  who  had  seen  some  of  the  Indian  handi- 
work, felt  the  hair  of  my  scalp  tingling  whenever  I 
glanced  back  at  the  little  red  spark  of  fire,  which  died, 
and  glowed  out  again,  as  the  wind  rose  and  fell.  Some 
of  the  men,  as  we  walked,  said  that  they  didn't  think 
that  the  Indians  could  have  seen  us.  But  I  knew  bet- 
ter. There  was  not  much  chance  of  that.  My  only 
hope  was  that  the  Indian  party  might  be  too  small  to 
tackle  us.  Perhaps,  after  looking  at  us,  they  might 
decide  that  we  had  nothing  which  they  really  wanted. 
Otherwise,  we  could  look  to  hear  from  them,  not  just 
yet,  but  in  the  cold,  dreary,  dark  time  a  little  before 
the  dawn.  When  we  got  to  the  little  hill  we  found 
that  it  could  be  guarded  easily  enough,  being  steep  to 
the  top  on  all  sides.  By  daylight  it  was  likely  to  be 
dangerous,  being  open  to  the  plain  all  round,  so  that 
any  one  on  the  hill  would  make  a  fair  target  to  a 
marksman  below  him.  For  the  time  it  was  a  pretty 
good  place,  we  all  thought,  though  the  camp  would  be 
cheerless  enough,  since  we  dared  not  light  a  camp-fire. 
There  would  be  no  moon.  We  were  in  for  a  night  of 
anxious  misery,  with  a  very  strong  likelihood  of  violent 
death  by  daylight. 

When  we  got  to  the  hill-top  we  picketed   and  fed 
the  horses,  placing  them  in  our  midst,  inside  as  much 


66  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

of  a  cordon  as  eight  people  can  make  about  a  tennis- 
court.  When  we  had  given  them  their  feed  (grass 
hastily  cut  with  our  knives),  Dick  suggested  making 
a  sort  of  ankle-high  fence  around  our  camp,  with  shrub- 
stakes  and  lazoes,  but  we  had  not  rope  enough  to  make 
the  circuit,  even  with  our  stirrup-leathers  and  reins,  so 
this  fell  through.  "We  were  beginning  to  worry  about 
Hunko,  who  had  not  reappeared  among  us,  though  it 
was  now  more  than  half  an  hour  since  he  had  crept 
away.  In  the  general  gloom  which  settled  down  upon 
us  when  the  scheme  of  the  trip-rope  came  to  nothing, 
this  fact  of  Hunko's  absence  told  upon  us  heavily.  We 
looked  out  anxiously  towards  the  Indian  camp,  telling 
ourselves  that  it  was  not  yet  possible  for  him  to  be 
back  among  us,  while  all  the  time  we  knew  in  our 
hearts  that  he  had  been  caught  out  there  in  the  grass 
and  done  to  death.  The  little  sad  spark  of  a  camp-fire 
wavered  and  glowed  up,  marking  the  presence  of  our 
enemies,  but  there  came  no  sign  of  Hunko.  Suddenly 
Tomas,  who  had  shown  a  good  deal  of  terror  during  our 
retreat,  broke  out  excitedly  with, — 

"  Look,  look.     Their  fire's  out." 

A  second  before  I  had  noticed  that  red  spark.  'Now 
it  was  quenched  out  utterly.  I  could  see  in  my  mind's 
eye  the  brown  skinny  hands  dropping  death  upon  it,  at 
some  smart  alarm  or  signal. 

"  Now,  boys,  look  out,"  said  Dick.  "  They're  prob- 
ably coming.  Out  all  your  pistols,  and  load  with 
chewed  slugs." 

After  loading  carefully  we  held  a  weapon  show.     We 


CHARLES  HARDII^G'S  STOEY  67 

had  nine  possible  fighters,  including  myself.  For 
weapons,  we  had  fifteen  double-barrelled  pistols,  with 
perhaps  ten  rounds  of  ammunition  for  each.  We  had 
two  light  fowling-pieces,  one  heavy  gl^n  throwing  an 
ounce  ball,  and  three  axes.  Each  man  had  a  long  knife 
or  dagger.  Dick  had  a  slung-shot  and  a  pair  of  brass 
knuckles,  of  which  he  was  very  proud,  though  I  knew 
that  an  Indian  at  close  quarters  would  give  him  little 
chance  of  using  either.  Altogether,  we  could  reckon  on 
a  pretty  effective  armoury.  Dick,  who  seemed  to  have 
more  wit  than  the  others,  produced  some  parchment 
and  began  to  make  pistol  cartridges  by  the  light  of  a 
candle  hidden  behind  a  small  wall  of  scratched-up 
earth.  I  helped  him  at  his  work,  for  I  was  clever  at 
cartridge-making,  having  made  all  Carteret's  cartridges 
during  the  last  two  years.  When  we  had  rolled  up 
some  three  or  four  rounds  for  each  man,  our  candle 
burnt  itself  out  into  a  little  pool  of  grease.  We  ser^-ed 
out  the  cartridges  to  our  party.  Then  Little  Theo  told 
us  off  to  our  stations  round  the  hill-top ;  two  men  to 
each  quarter  of  the  compass.  I,  being  a  supernumerary, 
was  put  to  the  east,  with  Bill  and  Tomas,  our  two 
worst  men.  I  noticed  that  an  Englishman  was  put  by 
each  of  the  Spaniards.  The  Spaniards  were  not  al- 
lowed together.  As  we  went  quietly  to  our  quarters,  an 
owl  hooted  somewhere  down  in  the  plain.  Ear  away 
to  the  south  another  owl  answered  faintly.  The  first 
owl  replied  from  somewhere  a  little  nearer.  It  was 
not  quite  an  ordinary  hoot.  There  w^as  something  un- 
usual in  the  fading  of  the  cadence.     Perhaps  one  who 


68  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

had  not  lived  in  the  woods  would  not  have  noticed  it. 

"  They  are  coming,"  I  whispered  to  Dick. 

"  Sure  thing,"  he  answered.  "  They  are,  and  here 
we  are  without  any  water,  either  for  ourselves  or  for 
the  horses.  Theo,"  he  cried,  raising  his  voice,  "  we've 
got  no  water.  Some  one's  got  to  get  water ;  we  may  be 
held  up  here  all  day  to-morrow,  and  then  there  are  the 
horses." 

"  Turn  the  horses  loose,"  said  Tomas ;  "  they  aren't 
ours.  I'm  not  going  to  bother  about  horses  which  aren't 
mine.     Let  them  go  free,  Don  Ricardo." 

"  'No,  sehor,"  said  Dick.  "  I  guess  that  no,  my 
Spanyola  de  Guzzlevino;  I  guess  that  no.  Them 
plugs'U  be  the  salvation  of  any  of  us  that  gets  wounded. 
I'm  going  to  treat  them  horses  like  I'd  treat  my  best 
friends.  One  of  us  is  going  to  get  water,  not  only  for 
us,  but  for  the  horses  too." 

At  this  there  was  some  babblement  among  the  men, 
who  one  and  all  avowed  that  they  w^ould  not  leave  the 
camp,  "  seeing  as  one  man  short  might  mean  the  death 
of  the  lot  of  us."  One  of  the  Spaniards,  the  one  called 
Benito,  said  that  he  would  go  down  to  the  brook  with 
the  water-bags  and  bottles,  if  Dick,  our  best  shot,  would 
come  with  him  to  stand  guard  as  he  filled  them.  To 
this  Little  Theo  objected. 

"  Our  brave  Benito  shall  go,"  he  said  caressingly  in 
Spanish.  "  But  our  most  gallant  Ricardo,  he  is  our 
hope.  What  could  we  do  with  the  ship  without  Ri- 
cardo and  myself?  He  is  our  trust.  He  shall  not 
leave  the  camp.     He  shall  stay.     The  so-valiant  and 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  69 

lion-like  Don  Tomas  shall  go  with  our  brave  Benito." 

However,  this  proposition  damped  Benito's  ardour 
altogether.  I  cannot  say  that  it  pleased  the  lion-like 
Don  Tomas.  "  'No,  captain,"  he  said.  "  It  is  well 
known  that  the  savages  are  very  subtle.  I  am  for  the 
open  fighting.  My  genius  does  not  suit  for  this  war- 
ring of  wild  beasts.  I  am  a  gentleman.  I  will  fight 
like  a  gentleman.  Is  it  not  so  ?  Then  bueno,  for  it 
is  so." 

"  Bueno,"  said  everybody.  "  Tomas  tiene  razon. 
Bueno.     Muy  bien,  Tomas." 

"  Bueno  up  an  alley,"  said  Dick.  "  One  of  you  has 
got  to  go,  or  I'll  go  myself." 

But  to  this  they  all  opposed  themselves  violently, 
saying  that  it  was  impossible,  not  to  be  thought  of ;  the 
brave  Ricardo  was  not  to  be  foolhardy.  They  made 
noise  enough  to  scare  every  living  thing  for  a  quarter 
of  a  mile.  If  the  Indians  had  come  upon  us  then,  they 
could  have  cut  our  throats  before  we  could  have  fired 
a  shot.  I,  who  knew  something  of  the  Indians'  habits, 
was  aghast  at  them.  There  was  only  one  way  of  stop- 
ping them,  a  dangerous  way  certainly,  but  less  danger- 
ous than  allowing  them  to  continue  this  noise.  I 
stepped  back  among  the  horses  to  collect  the  canvas 
water-bags  and  the  men's  canteens.  Slinging  them 
over  my  back,  I  called  out  to  them  to  get  to  their  posts, 
since  I  would  go  for  the  water  alone.  I  asked  that  I 
might  have  two  more  pistols,  in  case  I  should  be  at- 
tacked; and  T  prayed  that  they  would  not  fire  at  me, 
even  if  I  came  home  by  another  path  than  that  by  which 


70  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

I  went.  I  would  give  them  a  miaou,  by  way  of  signal, 
when  I  came  within  range.  They  applauded  me 
heartily  for  my  valour.  Little  Theo,  preparing  to  come 
with  me,  was  stopped  by  the  others,  who  would  not 
hear  of  their  navigator  risking  their  lives  by  risking 
his  own.  Dick  gave  me  his  pistols,  and  told  me  that 
I  was  a  plucky  lad.  Benito,  who  had  shovm  a  good 
courage  all  along,  offered  to  come  with  me,  but  this  I 
refused.  I  was  a  silent  walker  myself.  Benito  was 
anything  but  that.  I  would  go  alone,  and  take  my 
chance. 

"  Bueno,"  said  everybody.  "  He  like  to  go  alone,  so 
that  there  shall  be  no  noise.  Bueno.  Que  valor.  Que 
intelligencia." 

To  a  running  chorus  of  "  Buenos  "  I  stepped  over  the 
brow  of  the  hill,  on  my  way  to  the  brook. 


XII 

For  a  moment  I  stood  still,  peering  through  a  black 
darkness  in  which  I  could  barely  see  the  nearest  clump 
of  trees,  a  good  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  I  was  con- 
scious of  the  stars  being  blotted  out  in  that  part,  but 
hardly  of  the  presence  of  the  wood.  It  was  as  dark 
a  night  as  I  could  remember.  The  brook  was  easily 
seen,  for  a  faint,  whitish,  fine-weather  mist  had  begun 
to  wreathe  along  its  course.  The  brook  was  no  diffi- 
culty, but  the  getting  to  the  brook  was  likely  to  tax  my 
powers.     To  get  to  it  I  had  to  creep  silently  for  three 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  71 

hundred  yards  over  llnkllo^^^l  country,  some  of  it  per- 
haps brambly,  some  almost  certainly  quaggy.  Like  all 
boys  brought  up  in  the  woods  I  had  observed  the  coun- 
try pretty  closely  when  I  first  came  into  it.  It  had 
become  almost  second  nature  to  me  to  do  so.  I  had 
particularly  noticed  the  course  of  the  brook,  because 
brooks  and  the  strange  wild  things  which  live  in  them 
have  always  fascinated  me.  I  knew  that  it  ran  towards 
the  sea  in  a  straight  line  from  the  south  of  our  camp 
to  the  south  of  the  Indians'  camp,  which  was  dead 
to  the  westward  of  me.  But  further  up  the  stream,  a 
little  to  the  east  of  our  camp,  before  the  brook  began 
that  straight  westerly  course  towards  the  sea,  it  made 
a  wide  sweeping  curve  north  and  south,  so  as  to  put 
our  camp,  as  it  were,  in  the  crook  of  an  elbow.  I 
could  go  to  the  water  from  any  point  between  south  and 
east.  Standing  on  the  hillside,  out  of  sight  of  my  com- 
panions, with  the  certainty  that  somewhere  in  the  black- 
ness were  deadly  and  cruel  enemies  creeping  towards 
me  through  the  grass,  I  tried  to  remember,  from  my 
observations  an  hour  before,  whereabouts  the  brook's 
banks  had  been  sedgy.  I  had  no  very  clear  remem- 
brance ;  but  I  expected,  from  what  I  knew  of  brooks, 
that  the  firm  banks  and  deep  water  would  be  away  from 
the  bend.  Before  I  set  off  I  laid  my  ear  to  the  ground, 
hoping  that  I  might  hear  some  stealthy  footsteps  or 
distant  snapping  twig.  But  I  heard  only  the  passing 
drumming  note  of  the  brook  going  over  a  fall  three  hun- 
dred yards  away.  As  I  stopped  to  listen,  the  call  of 
the  owl  sounded  out  from  below,  by  the  water. 


Y2  LOST  EKDEAVOUR 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  bear  off  to  the  east- 
ward. I  guessed  from  the  owl-calls  that  the  Indians 
were  almost  all  round  us  by  this  time.  To  get  to  the 
brook  and  back  unobserved  would  be  impossible;  but 
it  was  craft  against  craft :  I  meant  to  try.  As  I  glided 
away  softly  I  was  conscious  that  the  water  bottles  were 
making  a  great  noise  upon  my  back.  It  was  unpleas- 
ant to  think  that  they  would  probably  be  noisier  still 
when  full.  The  putting  down  of  each  foot  was  a  mat- 
ter of  infinite  delicacy.  Have  you  ever  thought  of  the 
way  a  deer  goes  in  lands  where  there  are  beasts  of 
prey  ?  It  was  like  that  that  I  crept  down  to  the  water, 
fearfully,  peering,  sniffing,  treading  delicately,  lest  a 
twig  should  snap  or  a  puddle  splash  or  a  briar  rus- 
tle. As  I  went  on  I  gained  confidence,  for  I  thought 
that  the  night  was  black  enough  to  puzzle  even  an  In- 
dian. Then,  in  a  careless  moment,  I  trod  on  a  dry 
branch,  and  snapped  it  across  with  a  noise  which  rang 
out  like  a  pistol-shot.  An  instant  later,  about  a  hun- 
dred yards  to  my  right,  the  owl-call  sounded  again, 
with  that  blood-curdling  melancholy  unreality  which 
makes  the  owl's  cry  so  terrible.  It  startled  me  from  all 
my  woodcraft.  Panic  took  me.  I  waited  for  nothing 
more.  I  charged  down  to  the  brook  at  full  speed, 
floundered  across  it  at  the  bend,  where  it  was  more  than 
knee  deep,  and  then  followed  it  northward  at  full 
speed  on  the  further  side  till  I  was  out  of  breath.  Then 
I  lay  down  gasping,  while  my  heart  knocked  at  my 
throat,  till  I  had  pulled  myself  together.  After  a  few 
minutes  I  peered  across  through  the  alders  at  the  dis- 


CHAELES  HARDING'S  STORY  Y3 

tant  camp,  which  I  could  just  see  as  a  black  mass  hid- 
iug  the  western  stars.  All  was  quiet  there.  All  seemed 
quiet  in  the  grass  land  at  its  foot,  but  it  was  a  quiet 
more  ominous  than  that  stillness  frequently  disturbed 
to  which  a  woodsman  is  accustomed.  In  the  wilds,  at 
night,  there  is  always  noise  —  quick  stealthy  noises, 
little  squeaks  and  cries,  as  though  mice  were  giggling; 
little  swift  patterings  of  dew,  knocked  off  by  an  un- 
seen, noiseless  walker ;  little  scuffles,  little  sudden  pounc- 
ings  —  noise  enough  to  tell  a  woodsman  of  another 
world  than  his,  filling  the  night  with  life.  To-night 
this  babble  of  small  sounds  was  hushed  unaccountably. 
There  were  strange  beasts  of  prey  abroad  —  strange, 
dim,  silent,  grey  things  slinking  into  the  grass  like 
wolves,  gliding  forward  like  snakes,  frightening  all  the 
wild  things  from  their  hurried,  startled  hour  of  feed- 
ing. Of  all  the  bad  signs  visible  to  me,  that  sign  of 
the  silence  was  the  most  appalling.  All  the  night 
seemed  to  brood  and  to  be  expectant.  It  was  all  hushed, 
as  in  the  moment  before  a  cyclone  strikes.  It  needed 
very  little  —  a  broken  twig  or  the  noise  of  a  cocked 
lock  —  to  let  loose  those  tense-drawn  nerves  in  the  camp 
and  around  it. 

Peering  forward  into  the  gloom  I  began  to  people 
the  night  with  my  fancies.  I  began  to  suspect  the  pres- 
ence of  Indians  among  the  alders.  That  dim  black- 
ness of  a  leafy  branch  was  surely  a  head.  What  was 
that  moving  in  the  grass  there  ?  Listen.  It  was  all 
still,  very  still,  a  breathless  night,  tense  with  expecta- 
tion.    Far  away  (or  was  it  near,  though  very  low  ?)  an 


Y4  LOST  EN'DEAVOUR 

owl  hooted.  After  the  calling  of  the  owl  a  new  terror 
walked  the  darkness.  Heavy  footsteps  sounded  at  my 
back,  then  ceased,  began  again,  and  again  ceased. 
Some  one  was  coming  up  behind  me.  He  was  stand- 
ing still,  loading  his  arms.  I  could  hear  a  strange  noise 
as  of  a  clicking  gun-lock.  I  spun  round,  facing  away 
from  the  brook,  to  front  this  unknown.  But  I  could 
see  nothing;  nothing  but  mist,  and  the  night's  gloom. 
I  stared  into  the  dark  for  a  glimpse  of  him.  The 
heavy  footsteps  drew  nearer  with  a  resolute  curiosity. 
There  came  a  noise  of  a  musket  being  grounded.  The 
noise  seemed  to  be  within  a  few  yards  of  me;  but  in 
the  darkness,  made  even  darker  by  the  shifting  mist, 
now  gone,  now  thick,  who  could  tell  whence  it  came? 
My  fingers  were  ready  on  the  trigger.  Dimly,  as  in 
one  volleying  blast  the  mist  drove  by,  hurried  by  a 
gust,  I  saw  something  black  facing  me  —  a  bear,  a 
man,  or  a  willow-stump  —  something  black  in  the  night 
facing  me.  In  moments  of  great  excitement  one  real- 
ises with  a  swift  intense  certainty.  I  saw  this  thing 
for  perhaps  five  hasty  seconds  before  the  mist  closed 
in  again;  but,  even  in  those  five  seconds,  I  knew  that 
it  had  seen  me.  As  quickly  as  I  could  I  shifted  my 
position  a  few  yards  to  my  left,  before  the  mist  should 
clear  again.  The  wind  was  rising  now,  the  mist  would 
be  gone  in  an  instant,  it  was  going  even  now.  Pres- 
ently it  blew  away  altogether,  vaguely,  into  the  blacker 
vagueness  of  the  night,  and  there  was  the  thing,  crept  a 
little  nearer  to  me. 

"  Woof !  "  it  snorted  loudly,  "  woof !  "     There  came 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  75 

a  slashing  noise,  and  tlie  angry  stamping  of  a  hoof. 
The  thing  was  a  wild  bull,  the  offspring  of  the  cattle 
let  loose  in  the  Indian  raids  thirty  years  before.  The 
woods  hid  several  herds  of  them.  I  almost  laughed 
with  relief  when  the  beast  declared  himself.  A  sec- 
ond later  I  decided  that  it  was  no  laughing  matter  — 
for,  in  the  first  place,  the  beast's  snort  would  have  de- 
clared my  whereabouts  to  every  Indian  within  hear- 
ing; and  in  the  second  place,  it  was  the  early  fall,  a 
time  when  the  animals  are  in  prime  condition,  and  very 
quarrelsome.  "  Woof !  "  he  said  again,  stamping,  and 
lashing  with  his  tail.  His  head  went  down  jerkily.  I 
knew  that  he  was  cutting  the  earth  with  his  horns.  It 
would  never  do  to  wait  there  till  he  charged  me,  so  I 
backed  most  cautiously  into  the  brook,  which  I  crossed. 
I  was  glad  to  find  the  opposite  bank  a  steep  one.  There 
was  no  chance  of  his  crossing  after  me. 

When  I  had  hauled  myself  up  on  the  bank  I  filled 
the  water-bags  and  canteens  as  quietly  as  I  could,  tak- 
ing care  to  fix  the  stoppers  so  that  they  should  not  be 
jerked  out  if  I  had  to  run.  I  had  slung  them  over 
my  shoulders,  ready  to  start  back  to  the  camp,  when  the 
bull,  having  cut  the  turf  with  his  horns  till  his  cour- 
age was  flaming  in  him,  advanced  to  the  brink  of  the 
bank  and  bellowed  his  challenge  at  me.  In  so  much 
silence  the  uproar  of  that  bellow  was  comforting;  but 
the  thought  occurred,  is  it  myself  that  he  is  challeng- 
ing ?  may  it  not  be  some  Indian  looking  for  me  ?  The 
bull  challenged  again  more  loudly,  trampling  at  the 
brink  as  though  for  a  ford.     Then,  wheeling  round, 


76  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

he  trotted  down-stream  to  shallow  water,  snorting 
loudly,  galloping  for  a  pace  or  two,  pausing  to  rattle 
his  horns  on  an  alder  branch,  a  creature  of  terrible 
strength.  I  knew  that  if  he  crossed  the  water  I  should 
have  trouble  with  him,  so  with  a  bit  of  a  prayer  and 
a  resolute  gulping  down  of  terror  I  began  to  creep  for- 
ward to  the  camp.  I  remember  saying  to  myself  that 
my  best  plan  would  be  to  edge  away  to  the  right,  away 
from  the  bull,  before  I  tried  to  dash  in  towards  my 
friends ;  but  my  nerves  weren't  equal  to  the  strain.  I 
went  forward,  straight  for  home,  to  the  most  horrible 
instant  of  alarm  of  all  that  horrible  night.  I  went  so 
silently  (I  was  proud  of  this  afterwards)  that  I  put  my 
hand  on  to  a  sleeping  hare  in  her  form. 

It  was  probably  a  severe  shock  to  the  hare;  but  to 
me,  that  sudden  alarmed  upstarting,  that  touch  of  the 
warm  fur,  that  horrible  swift  charge  away  as  though 
a  living  rocket  were  running  in  the  grass,  were  most 
terrifying.  Away  she  tore,  in  great  leaping  bounds, 
straight  for  the  camp,  thirty  yards  away.  The  scut- 
tering  thumping  of  her  rush  checked  itself  suddenly, 
as  the  creature  bounded  widely  to  one  side.  In  her 
terror  she  had  run  almost  on  to  something;  and,  swerv- 
ing, she  had  made  one  of  those  side-leaps  with  which 
a  hare  confuses  her  trail.  After  her  leap  she  turned 
and  raced  back  past  me,  some  twenty  yards  to  my 
right.  I  knew  the  signs  only  too  well.  The  something 
in  the  grass  could  not  be  a  beast  of  prey,  for  there  was 
no  pursuit.  There  was  an  Indian  right  in  front  of  me, 
between  me  and  the  camp,  and  he  knew  that  I  was  there, 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  77 

thirty  yards  behind  him :  the  hare's  mad  rush  must  have 
taught  him. 

Very  cautiously,  hardly  daring  to  put  my  hand  down 
again  lest  I  should  put  it  on  an  Indian,  I  glided  away 
to  the  right,  towards  the  track  made  by  the  hare  in 
her  double.  I  knew  that  the  terrible  moment  was  about 
to  happen ;  but,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  relief  experienced 
by  me  in  finding  that  the  jumping  thing  was  not  an 
enemy  was  so  great  that  I  was  no  longer  frightened  — 
only  very,  very  curious  and  tense,  as  though  every 
ounce  of  me,  body  and  spirit,  was  playing  this  for- 
lorn hand  dealt  to  me  by  the  fates.  As  I  crept  away 
I  heard  the  old  bull  splashing  across  the  shallows, 
trumpeting  his  challenge  to  everything  on  earth.  I 
wondered  whether  he  would  give  his  attention  to  the 
Indians,  or  follow  up-stream  till  he  could  find  out  what 
had  happened  to  myself. 

I  crept  on  silently.  I  am  quite  sure  that  I  was  as 
silent  as  a  human  being  can  be.  No  one  can  move 
without  making  some  noise.  I  did  not  make  the  mis- 
take of  pausing.  A  noise  suddenly  arrested  is  a  sus- 
picious noise.  By  keeping  in  motion,  even  if  one 
makes  a  little  noise,  the  noise  becomes  one  of  the  earth 
noises ;  it  mingles  with  the  noise  of  wind  and  water ;  it 
is  difficult  to  distinguish.  Presently  I  felt  that  I  had 
gone  far  enough  to  the  right.  I  felt  myself  free  to 
go  off  straight  towards  the  camp,  which  I  could  dimly 
make  out  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  away.  Now,  in- 
deed, my  heart  began  to  leap  with  the  excitement  of  it 
all.     I  raised  myself  upon  my  knees,  to  rest  my  crack- 


78  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

ing  muscles  before  starting  on  this  last  lap.  If  you 
wonder  at  my  doing  so,  you  should  try  for  yourself  to 
crawl  on  hands  and  knees  through  a  field  of  tussock 
grass,  with  forty  pounds  of  water  on  your  back.  After 
an  instant's  rest  I  crawled  on  again,  over  grass  a  little 
shorter  than  it  had  been  below  by  the  brook  side, 
where  the  ground  was  rich  with  the  flood  drifts.  I 
made  ten  yards,  fifteen  yards,  seventeen  yards.  Then 
something  in  the  grass  ahead,  a  dim  bulk  blocking  my 
way,  made  me  half  pause  till  I  could  see  what  it  was. 
You  cannot  think  what  a  strain  the  darkness  was. 
Everything  was  black,  vague,  ill-defined,  full  of  menace. 
I  could  never  be  certain  of  anything,  and  I  longed  so  to 
be  certain.  I  said  to  myself,  "  I  have  been  silent,  but 
there  is  an  Indian  within  twenty  yards  of  me,  as  silent 
as  myself.  The  black  thing  ahead  is  dangerous." 
What  was  the  black  thing  ?  Was  it  a  thicket  of  briars, 
or  a  patch  of  sumach,  or  an  Indian  grave-heap?  I 
could  not  be  sure ;  and  it  was  necessary  that  I  should  be 
sure.  I  lay  down  flat  upon  the  ground,  so  as  to  get 
its  upper  edge,  if  it  had  one,  defined  against  the  stars 
and  the  comparative  lightness  of  the  lower  heaven. 
Looking  at  it  thus,  with  my  head  flat  upon  the  ground, 
I  thought  that  it  must  be  the  bulk  of  a  vast  uprooted 
tree,  probably  much  rotted  and  overgrown.  That  it  was 
a  tree  was  evident  an  instant  later,  when,  in  a  puff  of 
air,  I  caught  the  scent  of  wild  honey  from  some  crevice 
in  its  bark. 

Now  it  was  always  my  plan  when  alone  in  the  woods 
to  approach  such  places  from  the  flank,  never  directly 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  79 

from  the  front.  One  never  knows  what  may  be  in 
hiding  on  the  further  side.  One  may  stir  up  a  bee's 
nest,  or  a  honey-hunting  bear,  or  a  wild-cat,  if  one 
approaches  an  old  log  too  rashly,  and  none  of  the  three 
is  polite  when  disturbed.  And  as  I  looked  at  this  log, 
with  a  knop  or  swelling  in  its  surface  well  defined 
against  a  star,  something  very  slowly  rose  up  from  be- 
hind it,  gradually  hiding  not  only  that  star  but  several 
others.  It  rose  up  very  slowly,  so  slowly  that  I  knew 
that  it  could  be  no  animal.  As  it  rose  it  defined  it- 
self. Something  stuck  out  from  it  at  right  angles.  It 
was  round,  with  something  sticking  out  from  it;  it 
was  something  with  eyes  and  a  brain;  it  was  looking 
at  the  ground  where  I  lay.  It  was  an  Indian  with 
eagle  feathers  in  his  hair.  I  got  a  sniff  of  his  war- 
grease  intermixed  with  the  perfume  of  the  honey.  For 
an  instant  we  stared  at  each  other  through  the  dark- 
ness. We  were  not  five  yards  from  each  other.  If  we 
had  made  "  long  arms  "  we  might  almost  have  touched. 
What  was  I  to  do  now?  Did  he  see  me  or  did  he 
not  see  me;  and  if  he  saw  me,  what  was  he  going  to 
do;  and  if  he  did  not  see  me,  how  was  I  to  get  past 
the  log  while  he  was  there  ?  Did  he  see  me  ?  I  con- 
cluded that  he  could  not  help  it,  since  my  face,  in  spite 
of  my  tan,  was  pretty  white  against  the  ground.  But 
if  he  saw  me  he  made  no  least  sign,  no  least  noise. 
He  was  like  some  great  fungus  thrust  up  suddenly  from 
the  log.  He  had  the  best  cards :  it  was  for  him  to  call 
the  game. 

At  that  instant,  with  dreadful  suddenness,  the  old 


80  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

bull  challenged  again  furiously.  The  start  of  it  was 
too  much.  It  was  as  though  the  Indian  had  shouted. 
The  sudden  jog  upon  my  nerves  made  me  leap  up.  I 
had  my  pistol  in  my  hand.  I  flung  it  up  swiftly, 
roughly  levelled  at  the  head.  I  fired  one  barrel  at  the 
head,  and  one  a  little  lower  down.  The  bullet  scat- 
tered the  bark  in  all  directions.  Drawing  a  second  pis- 
tol I  fired  one  barrel  of  that  in  the  same  direction, 
though  the  head  had  now  disappeared.  I  was  not  cool 
about  it.  My  nerves  were  all  wild,  like  branches  toss- 
ing in  a  storm.  Running  round  the  log,  I  fired  my 
fourth  barrel  at  a  blind  random,  downwards.  After 
that  I  dropped  down,  listening  intently  for  some  noise ; 
but  the  night  was  still  again  save  for  the  bull,  who, 
after  roaring,  was  plainly  advancing  with  angry  snorts 
towards  me.  Had  I  hit  the  Indian?  I  dared  not  go 
to  see.  He  was  quiet  as  death,  but  I  knew  how  clev- 
erly an  Indian  would  feign  death  to  draw  his  enemy 
to  him  within  reach  of  knife  or  tomahawk.  I  slipped 
more  cartridges  into  the  pistols,  and  wadded  them 
down  with  some  corn-pone  saved  from  my  dinner.  The 
quiet  of  the  Indians  was  terrifying.  Why  did  they 
not  raise  their  war-whoop  and  charge  in  ?  Perhaps,  I 
reasoned,  they  were  afraid  of  the  bull.  They  were  right 
to  be  afraid  of  him.  An  angry  wild  bull,  as  swift  as 
a  horse,  and  fiercer  than  fifty  wild-cats,  is  a  very  ter- 
rible creature.  Almost  as  my  mind  framed  the  words 
the  bull  loomed  up  against  the  stars,  seeking  for  his 
enemy.  He  saw  me,  but  was  not  sure  of  me.  I  looked 
very  queer  hunched  up  there  on  the  grass.     "  Woof !  " 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  81 

he  snorted,  sidling  towards  the  Indian.  Then  he 
paused,  and  seemed  to  test  the  air  all  round.  Some 
taint  of  the  war-grease  had  reached  him.  He  was  puz- 
zled. Then  he  came  slowly  towards  me,  lowering  and 
tossing  his  head,  while  I  kept  very  still,  knowing  that 
as  long  as  I  kept  quiet  he  would  not  charge.  When 
he  was  within  four  yards  of  me  he  stopped,  much  puz- 
zled in  his  mind.  He  snorted  and  thrust  out  his  muz- 
zle, stamping  heavily.  He  took  a  pace  towards  me, 
and  again  stamped.  I  could  stand  it  no  longer.  I 
sprang  up  with  a  yell,  fired  my  pistol  in  his  face,  and 
struck  his  muzzle  with  my  left  hand.  He  wheeled 
about,  terrified,  and  plunged  away  into  the  night,  mak- 
ing a  noise  like  a  charge  of  cavalry.  I  yelled  furiously 
to  hearten  him,  and  began  a  blind  rush  towards  the 
camp,  shouting  at  the  top  of  my  voice.  "When  within 
twenty  yards  of  the  foot  of  the  hillock  I  fired  my  pis- 
tols blindly  into  the  night  behind  me.  The  next  mo- 
ment I  was  lying  flat  on  my  face,  while  the  pirates 
blazed  away  in  my  direction  with  every  weapon  in  the 
camp. 

"  Stop  it !  "  I  shouted ;  "  stop  it !  I'm  bringing  the 
water." 

In  the  noise  of  the  firing  they  did  not  hear  me. 
I  could  hear  fresh  guns  coming  into  action.  The 
bullets  hummed  past  over  my  head.  The  wasteful 
fools  were  all  there,  leaving  their  rear  and  flanks 
unguarded.  At  last  a  lull  came.  I  suppose  they 
had  fired  off  all  their  weapons,  and  had  to  pause  to 
reload. 


82  LOST  EI^DEAVOUK 

"  Don't  shoot !  "  I  cried.  "  I've  got  the  water  fpr 
you." 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it  ? "  said  Dick's  voice.  "  We 
thought  you  were  the  enemy.  Why  in  the  world  did 
you  fire  those  shots  just  then?  You  scared  us  out  of 
our  wits." 

"  Why,"  I  answered,  "  the  place  is  crawling  with 
Indians."  (Here  I  scrambled  into  the  camp  with  my 
load.)  "  And  I've  had  a  moving  time  bringing  you  this 
drink.     I  thought  I  was  being  pursued." 

An  owl  cried  from  below,  from  the  very  place  where 
I  had  lain  a  moment  before. 

"  There,"  I  cried,  "  there !     That  shows  you." 

Ramon,  who  had  a  loaded  pistol,  fired  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  noise,  wasting  a  good  slug.  We  distinctly 
heard  a  grunting  laugh  from  the  hidden  Indian.  I 
took  off  my  load  of  bottles,  and  lay  down.  I  had  only 
just  been  in  time.  After  a  moment's  rest  I  roused  my- 
self, and  charged  my  pistols. 

"  Dick,"  I  called  wearily,  "  if  you  don't  guard  all 
round  the  camp  you'll  get  rushed.  They're  all  round 
you."  A  moment  later  I  was  dead  asleep,  utterly  ex- 
hausted.    I  did  not  wake  till  after  midnight. 


XIII 

I  woke  suddenly,  as  a  woodman  does,  keenly  alert. 
There  was  no  firing,  but  something  was  in  the  air. 
It  was  that  sense  of  impending  danger  which  had  woken 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  83 

me.  I  sat  up  to  listen;  there  were  low  owl  hootings, 
calling  and  answering,  all  about  the  camp.  First  a 
cry  would  come  from  the  brook,  then  one  would  an- 
swer from  the  foot  of  the  hillock,  or  half  way  up  its 
side.  Then  all  would  call  together,  making  a  melan- 
choly music  all  round  me,  but  all  softly,  so  that  I 
could  not  gTiess  how  many  enemies  there  were.  The 
pirates  were  on  the  alert,  lying  a  little  back  from  the 
crest's  edge,  ready  to  fire  at  anything  which  showed 
above  it.  Hunko  had  not  returned ;  they  had  given  him 
up  for  lost.  Little  Theo  was  walking  from  guard  to 
g-uard,  trying  to  keep  his  men  calm  under  this  ordeal 
of  owl  hooting.  I  felt  somehow  that  the  Indians 
meant  to  attack  from  the  west,  perhaps  because  that 
side  was  nearest  to  their  camp.  So  I  reinforced  the 
western  guard,  lying  rather  far  to  their  left  to  avoid 
being  shot  in  the  back  by  the  eastern  guard  if  a  rush 
suddenly  set  us  all  shooting.  I  had  seen  enough  of 
these  fellows'  discipline  to  know  what  to  expect  in  case 
of  an  alarm.  I  still  had  Dick's  pistols  in  my  belt,  and 
cartridges  for  seven  or  eight  rounds.  After  I  lay  down 
the  owl-hooting  suddenly  stopped,  nor  did  it  sound  again 
for  a  full  half-hour. 

It  was  one  o'clock,  and  more,  when  the  next  alarm 
came.  We  were  waiting  tensely,  finding  the  strain  very 
hard  to  bear,  when  a  low  owl-call  sounded  within  ten 
yards  of  me  —  just  over  the  crest  of  the  hill,  in  fact. 
I  saw  that  the  men  of  my  guard  stirred  anxiously,  fin- 
gering their  pistols,  but  they  were  not  so  mad  as  to  ad- 
vance towards  the  noise.     An  instant  later  there  came 


84  LOST  ENDEAVOUE 

a  shattering  war-whoop  from  behind  me.  Dick's  voice 
called  to  us  all  to  mind  our  own  sides  of  the  camp ;  but 
our  nerves  were  too  weak.  We  all  faced  round  to  the 
side  whence  the  war-whoop  came.  Dick  cried  out  again 
to  us  to  watch  our  own  sides.  He  stole  round  the 
guards,  and  told  us  that  if  we  were  not  plucky  enough  to 
stand  to  our  posts,  no  matter  what  was  happening  be- 
hind us,  we  should  all  be  dead  bj  dawn,  probably  by 
our  own  bullets.  For  a  few  minutes  after  that  noth- 
ing happened.  Then  suddenly,  over  the  rim  of  the 
knoll,  a  mighty  Indian  sprang  up  in  dim  bulk  directly 
in  front  of  me.  I  saw  him  before  he  was  on  me,  and 
fired  instantly,  missing  him  clean,  I  fancy.  He  dis- 
appeared into  the  night  again  as  noiselessly  as  he  had 
come. 

"  What  was  that  you  fired  at  ?  "  said  Dick  calmly,  to 
steady  the  nerves  of  the  men. 

"  An  Indian,"  I  answered.  "  He  showed  for  a  sec- 
ond against  the  stars.  I  fired  at  him.  I  didn't  go  any- 
where near  him." 

"  All  right,"  he  replied ;  "  don't  worry.  They're  only 
worrying  us  —  keeping  us  on  the  jump.  Hold  steady 
till  they  come,  and  then  we'll  plug  'em  full  of  iron." 

After  another  little  time  of  waiting,  one  of  the  Eng- 
lishmen on  the  southern,  or  windward,  side  called  out 
that  he  smelt  Indian  war-grease.  Dick  told  him  to  step 
back  a  little  towards  the  horses.  Then  he  called  out  to 
us  all  to  step  back  nearer  to  the  centre  of  the  hill-top, 
so  that  we  might  keep  from  shooting  each  other  in  the 
backs  in  case  of  a  melee.     He  saw  that  we  were  too 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  85 

much  exposed  as  we  were,  and  that  our  nerves  were  giv- 
ing way  under  this  process  of  annoyance.  As  we  fell 
back  Little  Theo  fired  two  shots,  but  doubted  afterwards 
whether  he  had  fired  at  real  men.  Probably  he  had 
fired  at  something  imaginary.  We  gathered  comfort- 
ably together  close  to  the  companionable  horses,  and  lay 
flat  in  a  ring  all  about  the  picket  pegs.  Little  Theo 
handed  his  plug  of  tobacco  round  the  circle.  The  men 
took  bites  of  it,  and  began  to  chew.  We  felt  easier,  all 
together  like  this.  The  man  Ramon  began  to  sing  a 
little  droning  Spanish  song  to  a  tune  which  seemed  to 
creep  in  and  out,  never  quite  declaring  itself.  He  said 
that  the  song  was  about  a  soldier  who  wandered  away 
among  the  mountains  to  kill  a  giant.  It  was  an  un- 
canny song.  It  droned  along  mysteriously,  moving  us 
all,  till  at  last  it  seemed  a  part  of  the  night,  a  part  of 
nature  itself.  One  could  hardly  think  of  life  going  on 
without  that  sleepy  music ;  it  seemed  to  have  been  play- 
ing ever  since  I  was  a  child.  I  remember  thinking  that 
all  this  watching  for  Indians  must  be  a  dream ;  this 
music  made  it  so  unreal. 

The  owls  began  to  call  again,  circling  all  round  the 
hill,  from  owl  to  owl,  till  one  felt  sure  that  there  were 
fifty  of  them.  Then  the  hooting  turned  to  the  fright- 
ful, shattering  war-whooping  which  had  given  me  such 
a  start  an  hour  before.  We  huddled  a  little  closer  at 
this,  so  as  to  feel  our  neighbours.  If  you  have  neither 
heard  that  noise  nor  the  crying  of  wolves,  you  will  never 
guess  how  dreadful  a  noise  it  was  to  us  on  that  lonely 
little  hill  in  the  dark.     It  lasted,  without  an  interval, 


86  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

till  the  night  rang  with  it ;  then  stopped  as  suddenly  as 
it  had  begun,  so  that  a  brave,  standing  upon  the  very 
crest  of  the  hill  opposite  Don  Tomas,  might  shout  a 
defiance  at  us.  Then,  after  a  triumphant  yelling,  it 
slowly  died  down  to  a  muttering  noise,  like  the  noise  of 
many  people  talking  together.  It  was  at  this  moment, 
when  we  were  feeling  that  the  immediate  danger  was 
over,  that  an  Indian  brave,  possibly  a  young  man  eager 
for  glory,  rushed  in  upon  us  suddenly  with  a  dozen 
leaping  strides.  He  came  over  the  hill-top  like  a  pan- 
ther, and  in  two  seconds  he  was  lashing  out  at  us  with  a 
tomahawk,  right  in  our  midst,  while  we  were  firing  at 
him  from  all  the  points  of  the  compass.  If  we  had  been 
sitting  up,  or  standing,  he  would  have  killed  one  or  two 
of  us.  As  it  was  he  knocked  Don  Tomas  senseless,  and 
wrenched  one  of  his  pistols  from  him.  I  doubt  very 
much  whether  he  was  hurt  by  our  firing.  He  drew  our 
fire  effectively,  gave  us  all  a  terrible  impression  of  his 
strength  and  daring,  and  vanished  with  his  trophy.  We 
heard  him  singing  a  sort  of  triumphant  song  about  it, 
somewhere  down  the  slope  of  the  hill.  After  this  we 
saw  no  more  of  the  enemy  until  a  little  before  the  dawn, 
when  the  horses  became  so  uneasy  that  we  feared  that  a 
rush  was  coming.  The  uneasiness  of  the  horses  was 
easily  explained.  The  Indians  had  crept  up  to  wind- 
ward with  a  fresh  bearskin,  or  fresh  buffalo  robe,  so 
that  the  wild  scent  might  waft  into  the  camp.  Horses 
cannot  abide  the  scent  of  bear  and  buffalo.  The  In- 
dians knew  that  if  they  made  our  horses  kicking  mad, 
we  should  be  forced  to  stand  away  from  them  in  open 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  87 

order;  and  that  their  attack  would  be  more  certainly 
successful  if  they  could  catch  us  scattered  into  little 
groups  divided  by  wild  horses.  The  horses  were  soon 
plunging  at  their  picket  ropes  with  great  wrenchings. 
They  were  sweating  and  trampling,  trying  to  break 
away.  A  dim  light  was  beginning  to  gather  now  in  the 
east.  The  blackness  of  the  night  was  gone.  We  could 
see  the  edge  of  the  hill  now,  and  each  other's  faces,  and 
something  of  the  lie  of  the  land,  in  dark  masses  far 
away.  We  had  just  drawn  away  from  the  horses, 
fearing  to  be  kicked,  when  the  warwhoops  burst  out  all 
round  us,  and  a  wedge  of  Indians  stormed  in  upon  our 
weather  side.  As  our  g-uns  opened  on  them  a  volley 
was  fired  at  us  from  the  western  end  of  the  hill-top. 
Somebody  stumbled  into  me,  and  fell  among  the  horses. 
Then  came  shouts,  cries,  and  a  smart  cracking  of  pistols. 
Peter,  breaking  his  hobbles,  knocked  me  down  and  gal- 
loped away.  I  saw  an  Indian  bounding  towards  me. 
I  fired  at  him,  but  still  he  came  on ;  I  fired  again,  every- 
body seemed  to  fire  again,  still  he  came  on :  it  all  hap- 
pened in  five  seconds.  I  got  my  second  pistol  and  fired, 
but  still  he  came  on.  He  seemed  like  a  jumping  figure 
in  a  zoetrope.  There  was  a  racket  all  round  me  as  of 
the  earth  being  blown  to  pieces.  Ramon  was  ramming 
in  a  wad,  shouting  wildly  in  Spanish.  I  heard  a  groan, 
and  Ramon  was  gone  from  my  side.  The  Indian  was 
right  into  me.  Something  struck  me  in  my  face, 
knocking  off  my  hat.  A  frightful  explosion  came  from 
behind  me,  burning  my  neck  and  chin.  The  Indian  in 
his  rush  flung  me  aside,  and  fired  over  me  at  some  one 


88  LOST  EKDEAVOUE 

who  was  firing  at  him.  Then,  when  I  got  to  my  feet 
again,  rubbing  my  neck,  the  Indians  were  gone  from  the 
hill-top;  two  of  the  horses  were  gone  with  them,  the 
third  lay  dead  among  the  water-bottles.  Ramon  was 
down  with  a  smashed  collar-bone.  Tomas  had  a  bullet 
in  his  chest.  Bill  had  four  slugs  distributed  about  his 
body.  Little  Theo  was  cruelly  cut  about  the  shoulder. 
I  had  my  neck  burned  by  a  pistol  flash,  and  everybody 
had  had  a  very  lively  scare.  Apparently  we  had  neither 
killed  nor  wounded  a  single  Indian.  It  was  a  lesson 
to  us  not  to  brag  about  the  superiority  of  the  white  man. 
I  remember  how  glum  we  were  when  we  found  that  all 
our  shooting  had  been  worse  than  useless.  A  shot  was 
fired  from  the  grass  at  the  edge  of  the  hill-top.  Then 
another,  from  another  quarter.  Then  a  third  and  a 
fourth,  till  the  air  hummed  with  slugs.  We  fired  at 
the  flashes,  but  we  soon  found  that  we  were  only  wasting 
powder.  Giles  got  a  bullet  in  his  leg;  Little  Theo's 
neck  was  cut.  We  began  to  realise  that  in  a  little  while, 
if  this  went  on,  we  should  be  all  put  out  of  action  before 
an  Indian  got  a  rap  on  the  knuckles.  Another  shot  came 
from  the  weather-side.  It  struck  Dick's  heavy  gun  on 
the  barrel,  broke  the  barrel  across,  and  sent  the  iron 
with  a  whack  on  to  my  hand,  so  sharply  that  I  feared 
for  the  bones  of  my  fingers.  It  was  the  last  shot  of  the 
battle,  as  it  happened;  for  directly  afterwards  there 
came  a  wailing  yell  from  the  plain,  and  the  thunder  of 
many  galloping  horses.  The  horses  swept  past  us  over 
the  brook  and  away.  Shots  were  fired  from  the  west 
by  the  Indian  camp.     Owl  cries  rang  querulously  up 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  89 

and  down  the  valley.  They  were  repeated  (apparently) 
by  the  Indians  on  the  hill  around  us.  Then  we  heard 
the  owl-calls  drawing  further  and  further  away  from 
us  in  the  direction  towards  which  the  horses  had  gone. 
Soon  they  left  us  quiet;  but  far  away  we  could  hear 
them  crying  on  the  plain  where  the  horses  still  galloped, 
shaking  the  earth. 

"  They've  gone,"  said  Dick.  "  What's  driven  them 
off?  What  was  that  shooting  in  their  camp?  And 
what  were  all  them  plugs  doing  ?  " 

Some  thought  that  the  Indians  themselves  had  been 
attacked;  others  that  they  were  making  a  feint  to  put 
us  off  our  guard.  I  suggested  that  some  wild  beast  or 
drove  of  wild  horses  had  stampeded  their  horses  at  the 
camp,  and  that  they  had  scattered  to  round  them  up. 
Some  said  one  thing,  some  another.  Day  was  now  fast 
brightening  over  the  plain;  in  a  few  minutes  the  sun 
would  rise. 

"  I  think  I  hear  a  hail,"  cried  one  of  our  wounded. 
"  Listen,  you." 

"  Captain,"  said  Hunko's  voice  from  a  little  below  us, 
out  of  sight.     "  Tell  your  men  not  to  fire." 

"  It  is  Hunko,"  cried  two  or  three  of  the  pirates. 
"  Come  forward,  Hunko." 

Hunko  stepped  gravely  over  the  hill-crest,  raising  one 
hand  to  show  us  a  long  black  Indian  scalp-lock,  the 
spoils  of  his  night's  roving. 

"  They  are  gone,"  he  said  coldly,  pointing  to  the  plain. 
"  It  was  a  party  of  eleven  braves,  and  a  few  boys  fit 
for  war.     They  have  been  scared  by  the  coming  of  set- 


90  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

tiers  from  Pike's  Jettj.  Thej  have  lost  Jialf  their 
horses  bj  stampede." 

In  the  gathering  light  I  could  see  a  few  mounted 
Indians  trying  to  round  up  their  runaways,  now  scat- 
tered far  away  over  the  plain.  Westward,  in  their 
camp,  about  twenty  mounted  settlers  were  dividing  the 
spoils  of  war,  mostly  of  horses  and  arms.  I  was  glad  to 
see  the  settlers.  I  made  sure  that  I  should  know  some 
of  them.  I  made  up  my  mind  that  when  we  joined 
them  I  would  appeal  to  them  to  save  me  from  the  pirates. 
Dick  guessed  my  thoughts  before  I  mentioned  them. 

"  All  very  well,  boy,"  he  said,  "  but  put  it  out  of 
your  mind.  If  these  fellows  hail  us  we  are  seamen, 
cruising  for  beef.  You're  one  of  us.  We  shan't  speak 
to  them  more'n  we  can  help.  Little  Theo  isn't  hunting 
for  friends  in  these  parts.  We're  going  to  rustle  now 
for  our  ship." 

XIV 

I  had  to  be  content  with  this.  They  had  the  whip- 
hand.  Little  Theo  sent  Hunko  with  a  message  of 
thanks  to  the  settlers  for  their  timely  help,  saying  that 
he  would  come  in  person,  were  he  less  pressed  for  time. 
The  sun  was  just  rising  clear  of  the  horizon.  I  could 
see  all  round  the  hill  where  we  had  passed  such  a  night 
of  horror.  There  was  the  brook.  There  below  me  was 
the  fallen  hulk  of  the  tree.  Dick  took  me  to  see  if 
there  were  any  traces  of  the  Indian  behind  the  tree. 
But  there  were  none,  except  a  little  flattened  grass. 


CHAKLES  HARDING'S  STORY  91 

My  shots  had  missed  even  at  that  short  range.  When 
I  realised  that  I  had  run  from  the  camp  with  an  Indian 
so  near  to  me,  I  felt  truly  thankful  to  have  escaped  with 
my  scalp.  My  track  was  in  the  grass  plainly  enough. 
Here  and  there  were  marks  made  hy  the  Indians ;  but 
it  was  strange  to  see  so  few  traces  in  grass  in  which 
twenty  big  men  had  crawled  and  hidden  for  several 
hours  together.  Everybody  to  his  own  life  and  to  his 
own  way  of  fighting.  I  will  never  again  despise  a  sav- 
age. His  way  of  life  is  not  the  way  which  I  should 
choose  for  mine,  but  it  at  least  gives  him  virtues  and 
qualities  which  my  way  does  not  give  to  me.  I  am  a 
better  man  than  the  savage  among  my  own  people ;  but 
away  from  my  own  people,  among  his  surroundings,  he 
is  better  than  mj'self.  I  escaped  that  night,  I  suppose, 
because  the  Indian  disdained  to  kill  a  boy  who  had 
shown  a  certain  amount  of  ner\^e,  and  the  want  of  it. 

When  Hunko  came  back  he  came  with  three  horses 
which  he  had  borrowed  for  our  wounded,  some  of  whom 
were  in  a  pretty  bad  way  from  loss  of  blood.  We  stuck 
them  up  on  the  saddles  with  alder  boughs  to  keep  them 
upright.  Tomas,  Bill,  and  Little  Theo  had  the  horses. 
Ramon  sometimes  walked,  and  sometimes  climbed  up 
behind  Tomas.  We  were  not  a  very  cheerful  company 
on  that  last  short  stage  which  took  us  to  the  sea. 

We  pushed  through  a  belt  of  thick  timber  into  a 
stretch  of  land  covered  with  sumach  bushes.  Scram- 
bling down  through  this,  we  passed  through  a  copse  of 
scrub  and  brush  to  a  rise  of  land,  topped  by  three  red 
cedars.     Just  below  the  rise  was  a  creek  of  the  sea, 


92  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

some  two  hundred  yards  across  and  about  half  a  mile 
long.  I  thought  at  the  time  that  I  had  never  seen  any- 
thing so  beautiful  as  that  quiet  arm  of  the  sea,  trembling 
in  its  calmness  under  the  morning  sun.  At  the  head 
of  the  creek  was  a  settler's  barn,  a  jetty  of  piles,  a 
moored  cat-boat,  and  a  flag-pole  flying  Spanish  colours. 
In  the  creek,  fifty  yards  from  the  jetty  (which  showed 
how  deep  the  creek  was  as  clearly  as  the  colour  of  the 
water),  lay  a  small  full-rigged  ship  under  a  jack.  One 
or  two  men  were  lying  about  on  her  deck  at  breakfast. 
She  had  a  dirty,  old,  dishevelled  look,  as  of  a  ship  falling 
to  pieces;  but  I  did  not  trouble  much  about  her  looks. 
I  was  to  go  back  to  the  hateful  life  of  the  sea  on  board 
her.  She  was  to  be  my  prison ;  a  college  where  I  should 
learn  vice;  a  temple  where  I  should  be  consecrated  to 
the  gallows.  I  had  long  since  ceased  to  expect  to  get 
back  to  my  father  in  England;  that  was  only  a  dull, 
gnawing  want  which  I  had  no  hope  of  satisfying.  My 
chief  longing,  when  I  found  myself  aboard  that  ship. 
The  Bachelor  s  Delight,  was  to  be  on  Peter  again,  riding 
across  the  wilds  for  the  medicine.  I  thought  tenderly 
of  Carteret's  shack.  If  Carteret's  leg  were  not  worse 
he  would  follow  Peter's  trail  to  find  out  what  had  hap- 
pened to  me.  The  trail  would  soon  be  confused  and 
lost.  ISTews  of  the  Indians'  raid  would  be  passed  along, 
and  Carteret  would  reckon  that  I  had  been  snapped  up 
by  the  raiders.  Thinking  over  these  probabilities, 
eager  to  make  the  most  of  them,  I  was  forced  to  conclude 
that  there  was  not  much  chance  of  rescue  for  me  from 
that  quarter. 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  93 

There  were  not  more  than  thirty-five  hands  all  told 
on  The  Bachelor's  Delight.  They  were  mostly  Span- 
iards, Frenchmen,  mulattoes,  and  negroes;  but  there 
were  three  Indians  and  four  Englishmen,  counting  my- 
self. The  ship  was  French.  Almost  the  first  thing 
noticed  by  me  as  we  pulled  off  to  sea  that  morning,  was 
her  name  in  raised  characters  upon  her  transom : — 

MARIE  GALAITTE,  ST.  I^AZAIRE. 

Underneath  the  name  was  an  image  of  the  dawn,  and 
a  motto  (a  line  of  poetry)  which  I  could  not  read. 
Some  one  had  smeared  the  name  with  a  tar-brush,  but 
it  was  legible  enough.  I  wondered  how  many  women 
in  St.  l^azaire  were  down  at  the  jetty  end,  in  the  blowing 
weather,  looking  for  this  ship's  topsails.  They  would 
never  see  her  again.  She  would  never  again  come  sway- 
ingly  over  Loire  bar  with  her  colours  flying,  and  her 
guns  firing,  and  her  crew  beating  on  the  bell.  Her  crew 
were  down  among  the  coral  somewhere  near  Punta 
Brava,  with  the  shells  of  the  sea-snails  studding  their 
ribs,  like  buds  on  the  boughs  in  winter.  She  was  a 
forlorn-looking  ship.  I  think  she  would  have  raised 
forebodings  in  one  without  that  hint  of  her  past;  for 
her  sides  were  all  foul  with  salt  crystals,  marking  where 
the  seas  had  washed  in.  She  had  not  been  painted  for 
two  or  three  years  at  the  very  least.  Her  rigging,  which, 
as  Dick  had  said,  had  been  pillaged  by  the  deserters, 
was  all  dangling  in  bights  and  loose  ends.  Her  guns 
were  gone  from  her  gun  ports.     Her  spare  spars,  her 


94  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

boats,  her  anchors  were  gone.  She  was  just  the  crazy 
old  hull  of  a  ship,  unable  to  stir  or  to  defend  herself. 
She  was  in  sad  order  everywhere.  Her  internal 
paintwork  was  blistered  off  or  filthy.  Her  mouldings 
had  all  been  wrenched  away  for  firewood.  Everything 
about  her  showed  me  something  of  the  degradations  of 
the  men  who  sailed  in  her.  Once,  as  any  one  could  see, 
she  would  have  been  counted  beautiful,  even  among 
other  French  ships ;  but  no  man  with  any  pride  or  sense 
of  style  had  been  in  her  for  years.  She  had  fallen 
among  thieves,  whose  lives  were  like  the  lives  of  wild 
beasts,  without  forethought,  without  reverence,  without 
nobility.  She  was  in  the  hands  of  men  who  burned 
her  piecemeal  rather  than  endure  the  labours  of  wood- 
cutting. Her  present  owners  used  her  as  a  means  of 
robbing  those  better  than  themselves;  they  had  no 
thought  but  to  rob.  They  lived,  as  I  was  soon  to  see, 
from  hand  to  mouth ;  like  pigs  when  times  were  good, 
like  sneaking  beasts  when  times  (through  their  own 
disgusting  vices)  were  ill.  They  had  stamped  the  like- 
ness of  their  souls  upon  their  home,  and  their  home  was 
now  to  be  my  prison.  When  we  got  aboard  they  put 
me  into  the  'tween  decks  to  attend  upon  the  wounded 
men.  It  was  a  bleak  and  dirty  apartment,  with  broken 
windows  which  looked  out  upon  the  creek.  There  was 
no  furniture  of  any  kind,  only  a  locker  with  dirty 
blankets  upon  it.  I  had  to  get  some  ropemats  from 
the  locker  for  the  wounded  to  lie  upon.  After  that  I 
had  to  wash  and  dress  the  wounds ;  for  the  ship's  doctor, 
a  clever  Frenchman  who  had  come  down  in  the  world, 


CHAELES  HAKDING'S  STOKY  95 

happened  to  be  still  drowsy  from  the  effects  of  his  last 
drunkenness.  Dick,  who  probed  for  the  slugs  with  me, 
taught  me  how  to  dress  the  wounds  in  the  Indian  fashion, 
with  rinsings  of  salt  water  and  poultices  of  dried  leaves 
(like  apple  leaves,  but  strongly  aromatic),  which,  he 
said,  were  what  the  wild  deer  ate  when  they  were  sick. 

XY 

When  the  wounded  had  been  put  below  I  went  into 
the  cabin  to  dress  Little  Theo's  wounds.  He  was  down 
in  the  cabin,  fanning  himself  with  a  big  palm  fan,  and 
staring  dully  at  an  open  box,  on  the  lid  of  which  the 
name  of  Ed.  Beaumont  had  been  burnt  with  a  hot  iron. 
The  few  things  in  the  box  had  been  scattered  untidily 
about.  The  lock  had  evidently  been  forced  by  a  marline 
spike.  On  the  top  of  the  litter  lay  a  rather  large  joint 
of  bamboo,  such  as  seamen  sometimes  use  instead  of 
powder-boxes. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  jerking  his  hand  towards  it, 
"  my  papers  are  gone." 

"  What  papers  were  they  ?  "  said  Dick.  "  About  the 
island?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Theo,  "  about  the  gold.  The  bearings 
of  a  treasure  of  gold  worth  an  Inca's  ransom.  But  the 
gold  is  nothing  —  nothing  at  all.  There  was  something 
in  the  island  worth  all  the  gold  fifty  times  over.  And 
the  secret  of  that  was  among  my  papers.  I  don't  know," 
he  said,  laughing  weakly ;  "  we  might  fix  up  a  plan  even 
yet.     It  is  not  too  late.     It  might  be  done." 


96  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

"  Go  easy,  Cap,"  said  Dick  gently.  "  Don't  you  go 
telling  us  anything  if  it's  going  to  set  you  in  the  shakes. 
Slow  is  the  boy,  Cap;  go  slow."  He  put  out  a  hand 
quickly  and  felt  Theo's  pulse.  "  You'd  be  the  better 
not  to  talk,"  he  went  on,  wrinkling  his  brows.  "  But 
what's  that  ashore,  there  ?  " 

Looking  through  the  stern  windows,  we  saw  a  man 
on  a  bony  roan  horse  galloping  down  to  the  shore  along- 
side of  us.  He  had  evidently  ridden  hard.  His  horse 
was  in  a  lather.  That  he  had  set  out  in  a  hurry  was 
also  plain.  The  horse  was  not  saddled.  The  man  rode 
by  a  halter,  and  larruped  his  nag  with  the  end. 

"  Where's  the  old  man  ?  "  he  hailed  — "  the  cap'en. 
Hey  there,  cap'en !  " 

Theo  gave  a  call  through  the  port,  and  hurried  out  to 
speak  with  the  man. 

"  This  is  news  of  the  Sheriff,"  he  said,  "  you'll  see. 
Stay  below,  you ;  I'll  be  back  in  a  minute." 

When  he  had  gone  I  asked  Dick  what  all  this  talk 
of  the  island  meant ;  how  had  Little  Theo  come  to  be  in 
an  island;  and  what  was  all  this  talk  of  paper  and 
gold. 

"Why,"  said  Dick,  glancing  hard  at  the  rider  on 
the  horse,  "  I'd  better  begin  at  the  beginning,  and  tell 
you  what  we  are.  As  for  what  the  Cap  is,  I  think  I 
have  to  ask  you  that.  He's  a  mystery  to  us.  There  — 
there  goes  the  Cap  ashore  to  talk  to  the  fellow.  Look, 
they're  going  up  the  creek  a  piece.  I  wonder  what's  in 
the  wind." 

We  watched  the  two  men  walk  slowly  up  the  creek 


CHARLES  HAEDING'S  STORY  97 

together,  talking  earnestly.  The  rider  was  very  demon- 
strative about  something.  As  far  as  we  could  tell  from 
the  droop  of  his  shoulders,  Little  Theo  was  sorely  per- 
plexed by  it. 

"  There's  something  very  rum  about  Teodoro,"  said 
Dick  reflectively.  "  He's  a  rum  fish ;  he's  a  queer  fish, 
I  guess.  I  guess  he's  as  odd  a  dog  as  hops.  Odd  how 
we  found  him." 

"  How  did  you  find  him  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Dick,  anxious,  like  all  sailors,  to  get 
his  story  properly  begun  at  the  beginning,  "  you  must 
know  that  we're  smugglers  —  that  is,  we  take  Spanish 
goods  and  sell  them  to  the  planters  here.  Say,  you 
ought  to  have  seen  Captain  Pointer,  our  old  Cap.  He 
was  a  jewel  of  a  man,  that  lad.  You  should  see  him 
drunk.  He  believes  in  free  trade,  does  old  Doggy  Sam. 
I've  seen  him  run  goods  into  Spanish  cities,  I  have. 
That  takes  some  doing.  And  then  we  made  a  great 
run  of  boats  up  that  river  the  Magdalena.  We  went 
seven  days  up  with  goods  to  smuggle  to  the  Spaniards. 
It's  death  to  be  caught  at  that  game.  We'd  a  been 
flung  to  the  alligators  if  we'd  been  caught.  All  day  we 
used  to  lie  up  under  the  trees  while  the  mosquitoes  ate 
us ;  and  at  night  we  would  paddle  on,  under  the  sentries, 
under  the  forts,  where  we  could  see  the  matches  burning. 
We  smuggled  in  two  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  goods, 
and  there  was  more  than  five  thousand  paid  for  them. 
Then  we  drifted  down  to  our  ship  again  with  the  money 
in  gold  bars.  She  lay  hidden  among  the  islands,  our 
ship  did,  all  stuck  about  with  creepers,  so  that  her  masts 


98  LOST  Eit^TDEAVOUR 

were  like  apple-trees.  At  Toro  —  that's  the  island 
where  we  careen  —  there  were  great  sprees  after  that 
time.  We  drank  seven  casks  of  rum  in  a  fortnight. 
They  were  splashing  buckets  of  rum  all  over  each  other, 
the  hands  were  " 

"  What  beasts !  "  I  said. 

"  Yes.  It  was  a  pity  to  waste  the  good  rum,"  said 
Dick.  "  But  I  tell  you  our  captain  could  afford  it. 
And  he  never  grudged  his  hands.  You'd  ought  to  see 
Toro.  It's  like  a  little  town  there  when  the  ships  are 
in.  The  men  have  their  wives,  just  like  in  Jamaica; 
and  there's  taverns  and  cards.  He's  been  careening 
and  trading  there  these  seven  years,  and  he's  kept  it 
secret.  It's  a  fine  island,  all  right.  A  fine  little  sandy 
bay,  with  a  brook  tumbling  down  into  the  sea,  and  the 
Trade  always  blowing  aloft.  There's  very  good  fruit 
and  turtle  there,  and  the  speckled  cedar  in  plenty  all 
over  it;  fine  for  plank.  There  was  Indians  when  we 
made  it  first.  But  we  hunted  them  down,  all  the  tribe. 
Forty-seven  little  brown  runts  with  gold  in  their  noses. 
We  sold  'em  ten  pounds  each  in  Port  Royal.  There's 
no  Indians  there  now,  except  their  spectres  walk. 

"  The  Indians  will  be  dead  by  this  time.  They  get 
homesick  or  something.  They  haven't  got  sense  like 
us;  they  always  die.  N'ow  that  they're  dead,  there's 
no  living  soul  but  our  gang  knows  of  that  island.  It 
stands  lonely  in  the  sea.  If  you  go  up  the  hill  there 
you'll  see  the  sea  all  round  you;  and  to  the  south  a 
yellowy  blink,  like  a  paleness,  where  the  Main  shows, 


CHAKLES  HAKDING'S  STOKY  99 

far  away.     But  you'll  see  no  ship  there;  nothing  but 
the  sea,  and  the  flying  fish. 

"  One  thing  we  done  silly.  We  kill  off  all  the  turtle 
a  few  months  back.  That  was  a  silly  kind  of  a  trick 
to  do.  So  one  day,  when  we  were  sailing  from  Toro 
with  a  lot  of  goods  we  were  going  to  run,  the  Cap  said, 
'  Let's  cruise  about  to  them  westward  islands,  to  see  if 
there's  turtle  there.'  We  cruised  about  for  a  day,  and 
came  to  an  island  which  the  Spaniards  call  the  '  Dragon's 
Mouth,'  because  it  has  a  kind  of  a  jaw  look  drawn  out 
on  a  chart.  The  first  thing  we  saw  when  we  went  into 
the  lagoon  there  was  friend  Teodoro,  lying  on  the  beach, 
pretty  near  dead  of  fever.  He  was  dressed  in  the 
rummy  rig  you  see ;  and  how  he  come  there,  and  what 
he  was  doing  there,  for  I  guess  the  island's  not  in- 
habited, is  one  too  many  for  me.  Naturally  we  took 
him  off  the  ship,  with  all  the  gear  he  had  by  him.  A 
bamboo  full  of  papers,  and  a  knife  was  about  his  whole 
kit,  if  I  remember." 

"  But  did  he  never  tell  you  how  he  came  there  ?  " 
"  Why,  no.  That's  where  he  went  wrong.  Any  one 
could  have  told  that  there  was  a  mystery  about  him. 
And  any  one  could  see,  after  a  bit,  that  old  Cap  Pointer 
was  going  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  it.  If  he'd  up  and 
told  some,  I  don't  know ;  but  as  he  told  nothing,  we  all 
made  it  out  a  bigger  mystery  than  perhaps  it  was.  We 
nursed  him  and  brought  him  to.  We  discovered  then 
that  he  could  navigate.  So  the  Cap  gave  him  the  job 
of  sailing-master.     We  clubbed  together  and  gave  him 


100  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

some  gear  and  a  chest,  and  that's  all  the  story.  He's 
been  our  sailing-master  ever  since.  We  tried  to  get  the 
story  out  of  him.  But  he's  not  a  man  to  tell  what  he 
don't  want  to  tell.  And  Old  Cap  Pointer  had  a  sight 
too  much  style  to  ask  where  he  wasn't  wanted." 

"  So  he  broke  open  the  chest  and  stole  the  papers  in- 
stead ?  " 

"  Well,  that's  his  style." 

Soon  afterwards  Little  Theo  returned. 

"  That  was  a  farm  hand,"  he  said,  jerking  his  hand 
towards  the  rider.  "  He  says  that  the  Sheriff  is  gath- 
ering a  posse  to  arrest  us  for  running  contraband. 
What  does  '  arrest '  mean,  Charles  ?  " 

My  heart  began  to  quake  at  that.  I  knew  only  too 
well  what  arrest  meant.  It  meant  pressing  into  the 
fleet,  or  flogging,  or  five  years  on  the  chain  gang. 

"  We  must  get  under  way,"  said  Little  Theo.  "  But 
that  was  not  the  only  thing.  Where  is  a  place  called 
Myngs'  Creek  ?  " 

"  I  should  guess  about  ten  or  twelve  miles  from  here," 
I  answered.     "  But  that  is  only  my  guess." 

"  Well,  Eicardo,"  he  said,  "  there's  a  frigate  in 
Myngs'  Creek;  and,  even  if  we  escape  the  posse,  we 
shall  have  her  after  us.     We  must  sail." 

"All  very  well  to  sail,"  said  Dick.  "But  they've 
only  left  us  two  or  three  sails.  And  where  are  we  to 
go  to  when  we  sail  ? " 

"  Go  to  ?  "  said  Theo.  "  We  shall  go  to  my  island, 
to  stop  those  ruffians.  I  have  a  plan."  He  caught  hold 
of  Dick's  arm  and  spoke  earnestly.     "  We  must  sail. 


CHAELES  HARDING'S  STORY         101 

We  must  get  there  before  them,  I  tell  you.  Get  what 
sail  you  can,  and  warp  her  out." 

"  All  right,  Cap,"  said  Dick ;  "  be  easy.  I  can  get 
way  upon  her,  if  no  more.  But  these  lads  of  ours  give 
me  a  tired  feeling.  It  was  the  funniest  thing  Sam  ever 
done  to  leave  us  these  lads  to  work  with.  Well.  We 
will  sail.  But  as  for  you,  Cap,  you're  fretting.  And 
that'll  only  make  the  fever  worse.  You  lie  still  and 
cheer  up." 

An  hour  later  Dick  returned,  to  say  that  they  were 
laying  out  a  warp  to  the  cedars  on  the  bluff  all  ready 
to  sail.  The  knuckles  of  one  of  his  hands  were  bleed- 
ing. I  asked  him  if  he  had  hurt  himself.  "  No,"  he 
said.     "  But  one  of  the  crowd  didn't  want  to  sail." 

"Didn't  he?"  said  Theo. 

"  He  does  now,"  said  Dick  quickly.  "  But  if  you 
could  come  on  deck,  Cap,  they  might  step  more  lively. 
I'm  only  a  seaman  like  themselves.  You  got  a  reputa- 
tion for  being  a  man  with  style." 

"  I'll  come,"  said  Theo.  We  all  went  on  deck  to- 
gether. 

When  we  had  got  to  the  deck,  Theo  shouted  to  the 
hands  to  unmoor  ship.  They  muttered  and  checked  at 
this,  knowing  how  few  stores  had  been  left  to  us  by  the 
deserters;  but  the  sight  of  the  two  determined  men 
daunted  them.  After  a  little  moment  of  waiting,  for 
one  of  their  number  to  rebel,  they  set  to  work  with  a 
sort  of  grudging  slo^vness,  maddening  to  me. 

"  That's  the  style,"  said  Dick  cheerily.  "  Rally  for 
Boca  Drago.     That's  my  hearty  cocks.     Away  now  and 


102  LOST  ENDEAVOUE 

break  it.  And  you  (turning  to  me),  aloft  with  you  to 
the  fore-topmast  cross-trees.  When  you  see  a  rock 
ahead,  sing  out.  You  know  how  a  submerged  rock 
looks?  When  that  water  ahead  turns  pale,  sing  out. 
Otherwise  we  shall  bump  on  a  few  jolly  mermaids. 
Away  now ;  aloft  with  you." 


PAET  SECOND 
LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY 


PART  SECOND 

LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY 

[This  is  the  story  of  Theo's  doings  from  the  time  he  was 
trepanned  until  he  met  Charles  Harding  in  Vir- 
ginia. It  is  told  as  he  told  it  to  Dick  and  Charles 
Harding. ~\ 


YOTJ  must  not  think  that  I  am  mad,  or  in  fever. 
I  am  not.  Only  the  story  is  queer. 
You  know  that  I  was  trepanned  at  the  same 
time  as  my  young  friend.  Well,  I  was  carried  to  Port 
Royal  in  Jamaica,  and  sold  at  a  cheap  rate  (for  I  was 
still  feeble)  to  a  doctor,  who  cured  me  and  afterwards 
sold  me  at  a  profit.  My  master  was  a  small  planter  in 
the  north.  I  was  his  only  servant.  I  lived  with  that 
man  as  a  slave  for  more  than  a  year.  I  will  tell  you 
what  happened  after  his  death. 

He  was  a  great  man,  my  master,  hut  he  took  the  yel- 
low fever,  far  away  from  the  doctors.  So  he  died,  in  a 
lonely  house,  far  from  Spanish  Town.  He  died  at 
dawn,  in  a  room  with  a  banging  shutter,  for  it  was  a 
windy  morning.  And  I  was  left  free,  with  only  his 
clothes  dangling  from  the  wall,  like  a  hung  man,  for 

company,  alone  in  that  lonely  house.     I  tell  you  the 

106 


106  LOST  ENDEAVOUE 

forest  came  all  round  the  bouse,  green,  very  green,  a 
wall  of  green,  going  high  up,  a  darkness  of  forest.  And 
if  you  looked  at  the  forest,  at  first  you  thought  it  was 
all  green,  green  gleaming  in  the  sun,  green  almost 
golden,  a  green  sky,  with  the  macaws  like  scarlet  stars. 
And  if  you  looked  longer  it  was  not  green  at  all.  ISTo, 
no.  It  was  not  green.  It  was  black.  Black  as  the 
black  bars  upon  a  tiger.  A  night  of  black.  A  piece 
of  night,  into  which  the  dawn  never  broke.  And  if 
you  walked  in  the  forest  it  was  all  black  about  you. 

After  a  time  I  could  stand  that  house  of  death  no 
longer.  So  I  took  some  of  my  master's  clothes,  and 
seven  silver  dollars  of  his  money.  No  more.  N^ot  a 
penny  more.  And  I  crept  out  of  the  house  into  the 
forest,  intending  to  walk  to  the  sea.  It  was  still  in  the 
forest,  for  it  was  so  thick  that  the  wind  could  only  ruffle 
the  upper  branches.  It  could  only  make  a  swaying,  a 
sort  of  swaying,  among  boughs  so  far  up  that  only  the 
great  eagles  could  fly  to  them.  Great  eagles,  who  look 
down  from  a  bald  bough  among  the  clouds.  They  look 
down  from  branch  to  branch,  each  branch  like  a  shelf 
of  rock  upon  a  crag. 

So  I  walked  on  in  the  forest,  on  the  way  to  the  sea. 

After  two  nights  I  reached  the  sea,  and  pitched  my 
camp  on  the  sands  of  a  little  bay,  where  there  were  shell- 
fish and  little  soldier  crabs  for  my  provision. 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STOKY  107 


II 

The  next  morning,  as  I  lay  by  my  fire  watching  the 
sea,  a  sloop  drove  into  the  bay.  She  had  no  mast,  so 
that  it  is  no  wonder  that  I  did  not  see  her  till  she  was 
hard  at  hand.  She  was  one  of  the  Port  Royal  sloops ; 
a  strongly-built  vessel,  one  of  the  logwood  traders.  So 
when  I  caught  sight  of  her  I  stood  up  to  look  at  her. 
Truly  she  had  suffered  on  the  way;  for,  besides  her 
spars,  her  boats  and  bulwarks  were  gone.  The  sea  had 
made  a  clean  sweep  of  her.  'Now  she  was  rolling  into 
the  bay  with  the  breeze-current  as  helpless  as  a  stick. 
By  the  soggy  way  of  her  rising  I  could  tell  that  she  was 
water-logged,  though  her  cargo  of  tanners'  mangrove 
and  dyewood  kept  her  from  sinking.  Her  men  were 
aboard  of  her,  trying  to  keep  her  head  to  sea  by  a 
couple  of  rough  sweeps  which  they  had  made.  They 
had  made  them  out  of  a  pair  of  boat  hooks  and  some 
hatch  panels.  There  was  not  very  much  of  a  sea. 
What  one  calls  a  strong  lop.  It  broke  pretty  fresh  on 
the  outlying  rocks.  What  one  calls  a  bright  cockle; 
blowing  a  full  top-gallant  breeze.  To  one  standing  by 
the  shore  it  looked  easy  enough  for  them  to  beach  her; 
but  the  sea  is  deceptive ;  and  I  have  lived  long  enough 
to  know  that  the  outsider  sees  only  the  outside.  After 
I  had  watched  her  a  minute,  I  saw  that  the  set  of  the 
current,  which  is  always  along  a  bay,  not  across  it  at 
right  angles,  was  taking  them  on  to  the  rocks.  T^ot 
quickly,  for  they  were  moving  very  slowly,  but  still 


108  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

surely,  in  spite  of  their  pulling  on  their  sweeps.  Had 
they  been  real  sweeps  they  would  have  beached  her  with- 
out trouble;  but  they  were  jury  sweeps,  too  weak  for 
strong  pulling,  and  there  they  were  slowly  joggling  to 
death,  with  the  reef  a  little  nearer  every  moment. 

At  first  I  thought  that  I  could  be  no  use  to  them; 
but  when  they  came  within  hail,  say  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
away,  they  began  to  shout  to  me.  I  do  not  know  what 
they  said ;  but  they  shouted,  and  I  heard  them,  and  the 
noise  of  their  appeal  touched  me.  A  courage  rose  up 
in  me,  so  that  I  would  have  gone  into  the  sea  to  help 
them  in  despite  of  a  school  of  devil-fishes.  It  was  a 
clearing  of  my  way.  These  men  were  to  be  my  friends, 
my  guides  to  freedom.     They  had  been  sent  to  me. 

Now,  it  was  not  at  all  so  easy  to  help  them  as  you 
may  suppose  —  you,  like  so  many  of  your  brilliant 
country-people,  would  have  sprung  into  the  surf  to  save 
them.  Ah !  so  well  I  know  that  heroic  way  of  plunging 
peculiar  to  you.  But  I  did  not  plunge.  No.  Eor 
under  the  surf  in  that  most  beautiful  bay  were  dim  grey 
things,  looking  always  upward,  very  silently.  If  you 
go  in  a  boat  near  surf  like  that,  and  drop  a  piece  of  flesh 
into  the  water,  making  no  splash,  you  will  see  it  go 
shaking  down  into  the  clearness,  almost  to  the  coral, 
and  then  one  of  the  grey  things  will  rise  to  it,  and  take 
it  in.  All  so  still,  down  there  in  the  green,  that  it  will 
not  seem  real.  The  flesh  will  be  gone,  and  there  will 
be  a  great  dim  shape  slowly  sinking  down  again.  It 
will  be  like  a  part  of  the  sea's  floor  rising  and  falling, 
not  like  a  living  thing;  but  all  the  time  it  is  watching 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  109 

you,  watching  every  movement  of  you,  and  if  you  should 
fall  in,  do  you  know  hovs^  swiftly  it  could  rise  ?  I  have 
seen  a  boat  of  castaways  in  the  Mexican  Gulf,  not  far 
from  the  Haulover.  There  were  four  of  them,  all  dy- 
ing of  thirst,  in  a  boat  without  oars.  And  all  about 
that  boat  was  a  jostling  company,  hundreds  of  them, 
fidgeting,  shouldering,  nudging  each  other,  rubbing  up 
along  the  boat  —  laughing,  I  tell  you  —  scraping  up 
along  it  with  arched  backs,  for  all  the  world  like  a  cat 
rubbing  past  your  legs.  The  sea  was  thick  with  them. 
Beating  up  to  them  against  the  wind  we  could  smell 
them,  as  you  smell  mackerel  in  school.  I  tell  you  it 
was  a  bad  sight,  that  company  about  the  boat.  They 
followed  us  back  to  the  ship ;  though  we  piked  them  in 
the  snout  by  the  score;  and  when  we  hoisted  up  those 
thirsty  ones,  they  rose  half  out  of  the  water  at  them. 
Eh  ?  When  I  think  of  that  boat  near  the  Haulover, 
I  am  little  minded  to  leap  into  water  to  try  to  save  any 
one. 

I  took  a  good  view  of  the  bay ;  and  when  I  had  con- 
sidered it  all,  I  saw  that  there  was  a  chance  of  saving 
them,  but  not  a  very  good  chance.  For  you  must  know 
that,  in  the  very  bight  of  the  bay,  a  reef  of  rocks  ran 
out  into  the  sea  like  a  pier  or  jetty  for  a  matter  of  some 
forty  or  fifty  yards.  It  was  not  a  broad  reef,  it  was 
only  five  or  six  yards  across,  but  it  was  at  least  a  step- 
ping-stone. It  would  bring  me  nearer  to  them,  if  I 
could  keep  my  footing  upon  it.  That  was  no  very  easy 
thing,  let  me  tell  you,  for  the  breeze  heaped  the  water 
on  it.     The  rocks  were  as  slippery  as  glass  with  weed, 


110  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

and  from  two  feet  to  six  inches  deep  in  water.  Out 
at  the  edges  there  was  a  swirl  and  suck  which  turned 
me  sick,  for  let  me  tell  you  that  those  swirls  are  the 
playgrounds  of  the  grey  things.  They  will  watch  a 
swirl  all  day  long,  and  for  days  together  lying  under- 
neath it,  looking  upwards;  and  at  last,  sooner  or  later, 
something  is  whirled  off  its  feet  to  them,  and  they  will 
rise  with  one  swift  sweep,  take  it  in,  whatsoever  it  may 
be,  and  sink  down  again,  to  watch  for  the  next  thing. 
ISTow,  looking  at  the  set  of  the  current,  I  saw  that  the 
sloop  would  probably  drift  in  to  within  no  great  dis- 
tance of  this  jetty  of  rocks.  She  would  drift,  as  it 
were,  across  its  end,  at  right  angles  to  it,  for  she  was 
going  lengthwise  along  the  bay,  while  the  rocks  were 
cross-wise,  like  an  arrow  pointing  out  to  the  sea.  I 
saw,  too,  that  if  she  got  past  the  end  of  the  jetty,  she 
would  get  into  what  you  call  a  jobble  of  a  sea,  a  kind 
of  cross  current,  caused  by  the  conflict  between  the 
breeze,  the  set  of  the  current  up  and  down  the  bay,  and 
the  pier  of  rocks  itself.  At  the  end  of  the  jetty,  jut- 
ting diagonally  seawards,  was  a  race  of  white  water, 
in  which,  as  was  pretty  plain  to  me,  the  sloop  would 
have  no  chance  of  escaping  the  rocks  further  along  to 
my  right.  I  reckoned  that  in  another  five  minutes, 
pull  as  they  might,  the  sloop  would  be  caught  in  that 
jobble,  and  after  that  she  would  be  afloat  perhaps  two 
more  minutes  if  there  were  no  submerged  rock  to  break 
her  back  before  she  piled  up  ashore.  But  if  you  have 
ever  watched  a  sea  in  a  bay  you  will  know  that  there 
are  many  twisting,  outrageous  little  whirlpools,  and  tiny 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  111 

"whimsical  eddies  and  cross-currents,  not  plain  to  the 
watcher  ashore,  but  terrible  to  the  men  in  the  boat  trying 
to  avoid  the  apparent  danger.  For  all  I  knew  this  bay, 
which  I  had  never  before  seen,  was  full  of  such  eddies. 
I  could  not  count  on  having  so  much  as  five  minutes' 
time  to  save  them.  I  might  have  more,  I  might  have 
very  much  less.  On  the  other  hand  the  boat  might  be 
brought  up  safely  alongside  the  pier,  by  some  eddy  not 
apparent,  or  she  might  be  carried  up  on  to  the  sand 
where  I  stood.  Still,  I  had  to  decide  from  what  was 
happening  at  the  moment;  I  could  not  allow  for  what 
might  or  might  not  be. 

Now,  first  of  all,  I  said  to  myself,  "  It  is  likely  that 
she  has  been  swept  by  a  sea  in  a  hurricane.  Her  an- 
chor, her  bitts,  her  windlass,  and  all  her  deck  gear  have 
been  washed  away.  But  down  below  she  will  have  rope 
enough  and  spare  cables,  if  I  can  but  get  one  of  them 
ashore."  The  instant  that  the  word  "  cables  "  crossed 
my  mind  something  spoke  in  my  brain  quite  clearly. 
I  heard  it  say  the  word  "  bejuco."  And  then  I  knew 
what  to  do  well  enough. 

For  here  and  there,  in  the  forests  of  these  parts, 
there  is  a  thin  cane,  strong  as  manila,  and  as  flexible 
as  coir.  It  is  a  very  good  cane,  and  the  name  of  it  is 
called  bejuco,  which  means  cane.  So  with  one  leap  I 
was  in  the  forest,  which  grew  right  down  to  the  sand, 
almost  to  the  sea,  in  a  jumble  of  green  stuff  just  like 
painted  metal,  as  a  tropical  forest  does.  All  a  wilder- 
ness of  gi-een  things,  a  chaos  of  vegetables.  !N'o,  it  is  not 
a  chaos,  it  is  a  world  of  the  most  exquisite  order.     Every 


112  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

leaf  is  turned  so  as  to  catch  life  from  its  surroundings ; 
the  greatest  and  sweetest  and  fittest  kind  of  life,  either 
of  sun  or  air  or  water.  Not  a  blossom,  not  a  twig,  not 
a  fruit  there  but  has  striven,  I  will  not  say  with  its 
whole  intellect,  but  with  its  whole  nature,  to  make  of 
itself  the  utmost  possible,  and  to  give  to  itself  in  its 
brief  life  a  deeper  crimson,  a  more  tense,  elastic  tough- 
ness, a  finer  sweetness  and  odour.  Ah!  the  life  that 
goes  on  there,  the  abundant  torrent  of  life,  the  struggle 
for  beauty  and  delicacy.  Tell  me  of  your  cities.  I 
tell  you  of  the  garden  and  the  orchard,  where  life  is  not 
a  struggle  for  wealth,  but  for  nobleness  of  form  and 
colour.  Ah !  that  forest.  It  was  cool  within  there,  out 
of  the  sun,  so  cool  that  it  was  like  walking  in  a  well; 
a  dim,  cool,  beautiful  well,  full  of  pale  green  water  from 
the  sea.  The  flowers  called  to  me :  "  I  am  crimson," 
"  I  am  like  a  pearl,"  "  I  am  like  sapphires."  The  fruits 
called  to  me  that  they  tasted  like  great  magical  moons. 
But  I  had  no  eyes  for  them.  I  looked  only  for  the 
bejuco.  There  was  bejuco  there,  miles  of  it.  I  tore 
it  down  in  heaps  and  coils  till  it  lay  around  me  like 
snakes.  I  have  never  seen  it  in  such  plenty  since.  It 
was  everywhere.  It  was  round  my  feet  and  above  me, 
wherever  I  looked.  I  knotted  the  lengths  together  — 
snip  —  snap  —  as  fast  as  a  man-of-warsman  reefing.  I 
dragged  it  out  and  flung  it  clear  on  the  beach,  you  can- 
not guess  how  quickly.  I  had  a  hundred  yards  of  it 
down  and  knotted  within  two  of  my  precious  minutes ; 
but  that  was  not  enough :  I  needed  two  hundred  yards. 
I  tell  you,  you  could  not  see  my  hands,  so  swift  they 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  113 

were  at  that  knotting  of  the  bejuco.  Soon  I  had  those 
hundred  yards  all  knotted;  and  the  sloop  was  near. 
Perilously  near.  But  I  laughed,  I  tell  you,  to  see  her 
so  near,  for  that  only  made  my  triumph  the  greater.  I 
made  my  cane  double.  I  fastened  it  with  secure  turns 
to  a  strong  tree  growing  there,  and  out  to  the  end  of  the 
jetty  I  went  with  it,  hoping  to  fling  it  aboard  them. 
They  saw  what  I  meant;  the  danger  had  made  their 
wits  bright.  They  had  a  cable  roused  up  ready  to 
bend  on  to  my  cane,  so  that  I  might  drag  it  "  ashore." 
But  there  were  fifty  yards  of  water  full  of  sharks  be- 
tween me  and  the  sloop.     What  would  you  have  done? 

"  I  dunno,"  said  Dick.  "  Waited  to  see  if  they  were 
going  to  drift  nearer,  so  that  I  could  pitch  the  line 
aboard." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done,"  I  answered 
truthfully.     It  seemed  a  difficult  situation. 

Yes,  said  Theo,  answering  Dick.  That  was  what  I 
had  hoped  when  I  made  the  cane.  But  when  it  was 
made,  when  I  stood  staggering  on  the  jetty-end  up  to 
my  knees  in  water  at  each  sea,  I  found  that  the  boat 
would  not  come  within  flinging  distance;  far  from  it. 
One  of  those  little  treacherous  eddies  and  bye-currents 
had  taken  her  out  again;  not  very  much,  but  still  too 
much  for  me.  And  every  second  made  a  little  differ- 
ence to  her,  a  yard  or  two,  perhaps  less  than  that,  for 
the  tide  was  against  the  current. 

Now,  I  had  no  time  to  consider  what  to  do.  I  had 
to  act  at  once.  And  as  I  stood  there,  seeing  the  sloop 
slip  away  from  me,  the  voice  in  my  brain  gave  me  an- 


114  LOST  EN'DEAYOUR 

other  message.  I  heard  quite  distinctly  the  words, 
"  slap  the  water  " ;  and  then  came  the  word  "  burbujas," 
which  is  Spanish  for  bubbles.  They  sounded  quite 
plainly,  just  as  though  they  were  spoken  to  me  by  some 
one  standing  near.  I  am  absolutely  positive  that  a 
watching  Providence  put  them  into  my  mind.  Looking 
down  at  the  sea  I  saw  floating  towards  me  on  the  tide 
a  little  flat  piece  of  wood,  like  the  lid  of  a  preserve  box ; 
and  when  I  saw  that  I  remembered  an  Indian  diver 
whom  I  had  known  years  before  at  those  pearl-fisheries 
near  the  mouth  of  Axe  River,  on  the  coast  of  the  Main. 
He  had  told  me  that  when  he  was  about  to  go  down  for 
pearls  he  slapped  the  water  with  his  hand,  or  putting 
his  mouth  to  the  surface,  blew  violent  bubblings.  Those 
two  noises,  he  said,  were  enough  for  any  shark,  however 
hungry.  So  I  seized  the  piece  of  wood,  and  struck  the 
water  with  it  fiercely.  A  dozen  times  I  struck,  and  then 
plunging  in,  with  the  line  trailing  out  behind  me,  I 
struck  again,  and  began  swimming  towards  the  sloop. 
Soon  I  was  alongside  the  sloop  calling  to  the  men  to  take 
my  line  with  a  boat-hook,  which  they  did,  though  very 
clumsily,  as  men  will  with  death  in  a  bad  surf  only  two 
minutes  ahead  of  them.  They  caught  my  line,  yanked 
it  up  on  board,  and  bent  a  hawser  to  it. 

"  Jump  overboard,  one  of  you,"  I  cried,  "  and  help 
me  get  it  ashore  to  a  tree  " ;  but  one  of  them  shouted, 
"  Be  quick,"  and  another  cried  out,  "  I  cannot  swim," 
and  a  third  said,  "  Too  many  sharks." 

And  just  at  that  moment  a  shark  came  almost  along- 
side me.     He  came  rubbing  past,  I  suppose  puzzled  by 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  115 

the  line,  and  not  quite  sure  whether  I  were  bait  on  a 
hook,  or  just  good  wholesome  dinner.  So  when  I  saw 
him,  I  punched  him  hard  with  my  piece  of  box-lid,  and 
slapped  the  face  of  the  sea,  so  that  he  scurried  away. 
All  the  time  we  were  drifting  fast  ashore ;  so  that,  for 
an  instant,  I  doubted  if  I  could  get  the  hawser  fast  in 
time  to  save  them  all. 

"  Jump  in,"  I  shouted  again.  "  Jump  in  and  help 
me  carry  the  hawser  ashore."  But  it  is  no  good  talking 
to  scared  men.  Besides,  they  had  seen  the  shark ;  they 
would  not  have  jumped  into  that  sea  for  the  worth  of  a 
hatful  of  rubies.  One  of  them,  looking  over  his  shoul- 
der at  the  surf,  called  to  me  to  be  quick :  which  angered 
me.  So  I  called  to  him  to  light  away  the  hawser  to  me 
as  I  swam.  I  will  say  this  much  for  them,  that  when 
I  had  struck  out  for  the  shore  they  did  their  best  to  let 
the  rope  follow  me  gently,  lighting  it  out  to  me  carefully, 
more  by  its  own  weight  than  anything  else ;  while  I, 
half  swimming,  half  hauling  myself  back  by  the  bejuco, 
wondered  each  instant  whether  I  should  hear  the  sloop 
take  the  rocks  before  I  could  get  the  hawser  secured.  I 
do  not  pretend  that  I  went  back  ashore  with  all  the  dig- 
nity of  a  king. 

When  I  got  to  the  jetty  I  scrambled  and  stumbled 
along  it,  in  the  breaking  water,  till  I  reached  the  sand. 
Then  I  turned,  and  began  to  haul  in,  hand  over  hand, 
faster  than  I  have  ever  hauled  a  rope  since.  It  is  hard 
to  drag  a  hawser  ashore  through  water.  You  will  say 
that  the  tide  helped  me,  or  that  I  am  lying.  I  say 
most  solemnly  that  at  times  man's  body  is  seized  by 


116  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

spiritual  powers  stronger  than  himself;  and  then  he 
laughs  at  dangers,  flings  them  aside,  tramples  on  them, 
stamps  them  under,  destroys  them.  I  have  seen  an 
Indian  in  the  Nicaraguas  who  stood  up  unclothed,  armed 
only  with  a  faith  as  strong  as  chain-mail,  while  his  tribe 
flung  spears  at  him.  The  spears  bounded  off  his  body. 
I  flung  one.  It  bounded  back  like  a  ball  in  a  fives- 
court.  I  hacked  at  him  with  a  sword,  jarring  my  arm 
to  the  shoulder  at  each  blow,  and  not  a  single  scratch 
showed  upon  him.  His  muscles  stood  out  rigid,  like 
rolls  of  iron  below  the  skin ;  but  there  was  no  drawing 
blood  from  him.  So  I,  that  day  on  the  beach,  was 
filled  with  strange  power.  I  could  have  drawn  that 
sloop  ashore  with  the  strength  which  was  surging  in 
me.  When  I  began  to  haul,  I  mean  when  I  had  the 
end  of  the  hawser  in  my  hand,  and  was  dragging  it  up 
the  beach  to  a  tree,  I  heard  a  cry  behind  me,  but  I  paid 
no  attention  to  it.  If  they  did  not  believe  in.  me,  I 
believed  in  myself.  When  I  got  to  the  tree  I  hauled 
and  hauled,  till  I  had  the  hawser  round  it,  and  secured. 
I  made  a  round  turn  and  two  half  hitches,  and  lashed 
the  noose  end  with  bejuco,  so  that  the  knot  should  never 
come  adrift.  Then  I  let  myself  look  at  the  sloop  to  see 
what  had  happened  to  her,  to  see  if  after  all  I  had  been 
in  time. 

It  was  doubtful  for  an  instant.  It  was  so  near  a 
thing  that  at  first  one  could  not  be  sure.  Out  on  the 
side  of  the  bay  was  a  reef  of  black  rocks,  or  rather  an 
outcrop  of  them,  a  part  of  the  shore.  At  that  moment, 
in  such  a  bursting  cockle  of  a  sea,  the  rollers  were  cream- 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  117 

ing  in,  great  blue  hills  of  them  glowing  green  aloft,  all 
smashing  into  snow,  with  a  tumult  like  heavy  guns. 
The  sloop,  when  I  looked,  was  in  a  hollow  between 
rollers ;  lifting,  as  I  thought,  to  be  tossed  on  to  the 
rocks  at  the  next  burst.  The  spray  was  like  smoke  all 
over  her,  just  as  though  she  were  on  fire.  I  could  see 
her  men  straining  the  hawser  taut  for  their  lives  round 
the  stump  of  their  mast.  It  seemed  as  though  they 
were  hauling  on  the  tackle  of  a  gun,  amide  the  smoke 
blown  back  upon  them  from  the  discharge.  I  gave  a 
gulp,  expecting  to  see  her  whirled  do\\'n  upon  the  rocks 
and  smashed  to  chips;  but  no.  The  hawser  tautened 
and  creaked.  I  heard  the  snapping  sound  as  it  taut- 
ened. I  saw  the  drops  wrung  from  it  pattering  down, 
all  along  its  length.  The  roller  burst  itself,  and  leaped 
aloft  in  whiteness;  another  rolled  up  and  smashed 
down,  but  the  sloop  was  riding  it  out  upon  them ;  she 
was  fast.  For  the  moment  I  had  saved  her.  "Watching 
their  time  her  men  began,  little  by  little,  to  warp  her 
away  from  those  breakers,  gathering  in  a  little  at  a 
time,  all  hauling  hard  whenever  the  sea  slackened  the 
cable  a  little.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  they  were  all 
safe  ashore  with  me.  We  even  tried  to  save  the  sloop ; 
but  this,  with  the  tide  making  and  only  one  hawser,  we 
could  not  do.  She  went  ashore,  directly  after  her  men 
had  landed  on  the  little  natural  jetty.  A  big  sea  flung 
her  on  to  her  side,  another  tumbled  her  over,  two  more 
drove  her  up  on  to  the  beach,  where  she  broke  to  pieces. 
She  drifted  along  the  bay  in  fragments.  Watching  for 
these  as  they  bobbed  in  with  the  surf,  we  caught  them 


118  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

and  dragged  them  up  above  high-water  mark.  In  this 
way  we  were  soon  rich  with  booty.  "We  had  some  small 
casks  of  rum,  a  cask  of  ship's  bread,  a  box  of  jars  of 
Spanish  marmalade,  a  box  of  raisins  of  the  sun,  the 
captain's  drowned  parrot,  a  gun  or  two  with  the  barrels 
dinted,  a  bottle  of  vinegar,  and  a  couple  of  new  jewel- 
blocks,  all  of  which  we  were  glad  to  have.  I  should 
have  told  you  that  all  the  five  hands  of  the  sloop  had 
come  ashore  armed.  You,  who  know  the  way  of  life  of 
the  logwood  cutters,  know  how  they  never  move  five 
yards  from  their  huts  without  a  weapon,  a  long  knife  or 
machete,  a  pistol  or  two,  or  perhaps  their  long  gun.  All 
my  five  subjects  were  armed  thus;  and  they  carried 
with  them  powder  enough  to  fire  a  town.  I  call  them 
my  subjects,  for  they  never  questioned  but  that  I  was  to 
be  a  chief  over  them.  I  had  saved  them  from  the 
sharks;  now,  of  course,  I  should  save  them  from  the 
perils  of  the  forest.  They  looked  up  to  me;  they  de- 
ferred to  me ;  they  saw  that  I  was  their  leader. 


Ill 

Eirst  of  all,  I  bade  them  gather  up  as  much  of  the 
sloop's  keel  as  possible;  for  it  was  sheeted  with  thin 
lead,  very  precious  to  hunters,  who  are  often  short  of 
bullet.  Then  we  heaped  up  my  fire  with  drift  wood 
and  roasted  some  crabs  upon  skewers.  While  we  ate  we 
debated  what  would  be  our  next  plan. 

There  were  many  things  which  we  might  do.     We 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STOKY  119 

might  hunt  about  in  the  woods  for  beef  or  log\vood,  and 
in  time  push  west  to  some  port  further  along  the  coast, 
and  then,  chartering  a  sloop,  trade  what  we  had  gath- 
ered for  ready  money  in  Port  Royal.  Or  we  might 
march  to  the  nearest  port,  and  either  cut  out  a  sloop 
or  meet  with  some  companions,  so  as  to  go  a-roving  to 
the  Spanish  coast.  Or  we  might  march  inland,  through 
the  forest  to  Spanish  To^vn,  where  we  could  have  got 
work  on  some  estate,  either  in  a  sugar-mill  or  in  a  to- 
bacco-clearing. But  this  last  plan,  though  I  did  not 
say  why,  did  not  please  me.  I  was  known  to  many 
people  in  Spanish  Town;  and  had  I  been  seen  there, 
I  could  have  been  seized  as  a  slave  who  had  not  yet 
served  his  full  term  of  seven  years.  More  than  that, 
there  were  some  there  who  would  have  been  curious 
about  my  master's  death.  Slaves  receive  little  justice 
there.  In  the  end,  had  I  gone  to  Spanish  Town,  I 
might  have  been  tried  for  killing  my  master,  and  con- 
demned for  want  of  evidence,  as  was  the  rule  there. 
So  at  last,  by  management,  I  persuaded  my  five  servants 
to  this,  to  stay  where  we  were  for  a  while. 

I  said  to  the  logwood  cutters  that  I  would  take  one 
of  their  number  and  go  into  the  wood  for  a  little  while, 
to  look  for  a  good  camping  ground  near  water.  I  hoped 
also  to  get  some  game  for  supper.  The  woods  were  full 
of  game.  So  into  the  woods  we  went,  Don  Carlos  (the 
mate  of  the  sloop)  and  I,  each  with  a  gun. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  westward  from  here  ?  "  Don 
Carlos  asked. 

"  Never  in  my  life,"  I  said.     "  But  we  wjjl  go  now. 


120  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

Something  tells  me  that  we  shall  have  good  sport  if  we 
go  westward.  So,  forward."  Remember  that  up  to 
this  time  none  of  these  logwood  cutters  had  asked  me 
how  I  came  there,  what  was  I  doing,  or  what  I  intended 
to  do.  I  suppose  they  held  the  privateer's  creed,  that 
along  the  Jamaica  coast  it  is  always  best  to  mind  one's 
own  business.  Every  other  person  there  has  done  some- 
thing to  make  him  keep  his  mouth  shut.  We  swung 
round  to  our  right  and  kept  on  carefully,  a  little  apart 
from  each  other.  The  wood  was  less  thick  after  a  while. 
The  trees  grew  more  sparsely,  towering  up  to  a  mon- 
strous height,  with  very  dense  foliage  high  aloft:  so 
dense  that  in  the  dimness  and  coolness  underneath  them 
no  scrub  could  grow.  It  was  like  a  beech  wood,  in 
places,  if  you  can  imagine  beech  trees  five  times  the 
usual  size.  We  did  not  talk.  We  were  walking  apart, 
with  our  guns  at  the  ready,  looking  well  ahead  for 
whatever  might  happen. 

Presently,  in  a  clearer  part  of  the  wood,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  I  smelt  wild  cattle,  so  I  held  up  my  hand  to 
Don  Carlos  and  signalled  to  him  to  advance  cautiously 
from  behind  cover.  A  moment  later  the  smell  drove 
down  to  me  again  in  a  warm  gust ;  it  is  an  unmistakable 
smell.  I  guessed  from  it  that  they  were  lying  down  in 
a  bunch  of  thicker  timber  just  ahead,  and  that  the  herd 
was  pretty  big  and  not  at  all  used  to  being  hunted.  We 
broke  through  the  thicker  wood  of  which  I  have  told 
you,  and  found  ourselves  on  the  edge  of  a  piece  of 
savannah  land  half  a  mile  across.  In  the  savannah, 
which  was  just  like  a  rolling  big  meadow,  fenced  in  by 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  121 

forest,  was  a  herd  of  a  dozen  wild  cattle,  big  and  whitish, 
most  of  them  lying  down  about  fifty  yards  away.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  savannah,  away  to  windward,  the 
old  bull  stood  guard.  He  was  about  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away.  A  little  brook  ran  through  the  savannah  at 
right  angles  to  our  track.  It  disappeared  into  the 
tangle  of  forest  which  shut  the  field  in  like  a  hedge.  I 
could  not  see  what  became  of  it  afterwards,  but  my 
sense  of  direction  told  me  that  we  were  near  the  sea. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  I  heard  the  wash  of  the  surf  some- 
where to  my  right  hand,  and  I  had  a  sense  of  the  sea 
being  just  beyond  the  thicket.  From  the  way  the  turf 
was  cut  by  hoof -marks  into  a  road  I  concluded  that  the 
brook  was  a  favourite  drinking-place  of  the  herd. 

Don  Carlos  was  within  ten  paces  of  me.  We  were 
both  well  hidden  in  the  last  of  the  cover.  I  signalled 
to  him  to  shoot  a  young  cow  which  was  lying  down,  a 
fairly  easy  mark  for  him.  I  meant  to  take  a  more 
difficult  shot  at  a  cow  further  off  to  the  left.  Before 
firing  we  placed  cartridges,  ready  bitten,  in  dry  leaves 
at  our  side,  in  case  we  should  get  second  shots.  Don 
Carlos  fired,  killing  his  cow.  I  waited  till  the  herd 
sprang  up.  Then  I  picked  out  a  finer  cow  than  the 
one  I  had  chosen,  and  let  drive.  My  cow  fell.  The 
herd  on  getting  to  its  feet  galloped  to  a  little  distance, 
then,  wheeling,  fronted  us  fiercely,  while  the  old  bull 
advanced  upon  us,  pawing  on  the  turf.  So  far  they 
did  not  know  what  to  make  of  us.  I  verily  believe  that 
they  had  never  before  heard  a  gunshot  nor  seen  a  man. 
In  a  low  voice  I  called  out  to  Don  Carlos  to  try  and  get 


122  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

round  their  left  flank,  while  I,  as  soon  as  I  had  loaded, 
would  go  out  and  amuse  the  bull.  By  the  time  the  bull 
had  arrived  within  seventy  yards  of  us,  Don  Carlos, 
well  understanding  what  I  wanted,  had  begun  to  creep 
through  the  wood  in  order  to  flank  the  herd.  He  was 
a  good  woodsman,  and  moved  very  swiftly  and  silently. 
The  advancing  bull  had  his  eyes  fixed  steadily  in  my 
direction,  for  he  had  seen  the  flash  of  my  gun.  As  he 
could  not  nose  me  from  where  he  was,  up  to  windward, 
he  advanced  leisurely  instead  of  charging.  I  waited 
there  for  him,  so  as  to  give  Don  Carlos  time  to  get 
within  shot  again.  When  the  bull  was  about  thirty 
yards  from  me  he  stopped,  snorted,  stared  ahead,  and 
eyed  the  thicket  where  I  was  hidden.  He  kept  flinging 
up  his  nose  to  get  a  whiff  of  me,  and  taking  little  side 
paces  to  see  if  he  could  see  me.  At  last,  feeling  sure 
that  Don  Carlos  must  be  in  position,  I  broke  from  my 
cover  and  walked  out  into  the  open.  The  bull,  I  no- 
ticed, was  a  flne  well-grown  beast,  rather  old  and  tough 
perhaps,  but  good  enough  for  a  seamen's  dinner. 

"  Buenos  dias,"  I  said  to  him.  "  Come  and  be  killed, 
O  bull.     I  have  here  a  beautiful  bullet  for  you." 

As  I  finished  my  sentence  he  put  his  head  down,  and 
charged  so  swiftly  that  I  had  barely  time  to  step  aside. 
He  was  not  like  a  bull  of  the  pasture,  used  to  the  short 
gallops  possible  in  a  hedged  field.  He  was  like  a  fine 
steel  battering-ram  on  springs ;  and  when  he  missed  his 
charge  he  spun  round  in  his  own  length,  and  charged 
again,  lashing  out  with  his  horns.  He  was  too  quick 
for  me.     I  could  hardly  avoid  his  rushes.     After  the 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  123 

first  rush  or  two  he  grew  cunning.  He  turned  in  his 
rush  almost  as  swiftly  as  I  could  step  aside.  I  wanted 
to  kill  him,  for  he  was  getting  dangerous ;  but  did  not 
like  to  do  so  till  I  could  hear  Don  Carlos's  gun.  The 
cows,  as  I  could  see,  were  pacing  a  little  nearer  towards 
me  to  see  their  leader  in  his  glory.  I  laid  down  my 
g-un  and  got  out  my  pistol,  ready  to  shoot  the  bull  at 
close  quarters.  Just  as  I  got  it  out  I  heard  Don  Carlos 
give  fire.  The  bull  rushed  in  on  me.  I  stepped  swiftly 
aside,  caught  my  foot  on  a  bit  of  rotten  wood,  and  came 
down  heavily,  just  as  the  bull  turned.  He  came  at  me 
so  quick  that  I  hardly  had  time  to  save  myself.  My 
pistol  was  almost  on  his  fell  when  I  pulled  the  trigger. 
I  had  barely  time  to  roll  out  of  the  way  as  he  came 
down  with  a  thump  which  shook  me.  I  knew  that  he 
was  hard  hit,  so  I  left  him,  and  seizing  my  gun  I  fired 
at  the  nearest  cow.  She  was  the  last  of  the  herd,  now 
galloping  away  from  us,  up  wind.  It  was  a  long, 
quick  shot,  which  somehow  carried  true  beyond  all  hope, 
for  the  cow  went  over,  dead.  On  turning  to  load,  I  saw 
the  wounded  bull  half  rise  to  his  feet,  coughing  hard, 
before  falling  over.  He,  too,  was  dead.  I  had  killed 
three  in  three  shots.  Don  Carlos  stepped  out  of  the 
cover  and  waved  his  hat  to  me.  His  last  shot  had  some- 
how gone  astray,  but  that  was  no  great  loss,  for  there  we 
were,  with  four  full-grown  cattle  for  our  pains,  after 
only  a  couple  of  hours  of  hunting. 


124  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 


IV 


The  first  thing  to  do  was  to  get  to  work  upon  them. 
We  rapidly  cleared  a  big  space  upon  the  ground  for 
our  boucan,  taking  all  the  grass  off  for  about  seven 
yards  all  about,  lest  we  should  set  fire  to  the  savannah. 
Then  Don  Carlos  laid  the  dry  grass  thus  gathered  as 
for  firing,  while  I  cut  stout  forks,  four  feet  high,  and 
long  straight  poles  to  lie  across  them,  and  set  them  up 
in  the  ground,  like  little  toy  gallows,  all  about  the  cleared 
space.  Then  very  hurriedly  we  got  together  some 
broken  deadwood  from  the  thicket,  and  set  to  work 
upon  the  animals.  We  stripped  off  the  hide  of  the  old 
bull,  and  quickly  quartered  him.  I  had  borrowed  an 
axe  from  one  of  the  men  before  we  started  out ;  so  this 
did  not  take  very  long.  Men  used  to  the  work  can  flay 
and  cut  up  a  steer  in  a  few  minutes.  As  soon  as  we 
had  cut  the  quarters  off,  we  hung  them  up  upon  the 
frames  over  the  fireplace,  and  lighted  our  fire,  so  that 
the  smoke,  which  we  made  thick  by  adding  the  rest  of 
the  meat  to  our  fuel,  might  season  the  meat  or,  as  it  is 
called,  "  boucan  "  it  for  us.  When  we  had  set  all  our 
meat  drying  thus,  Don  Carlos  took  charge  of  the  fire, 
while  I  pegged  out  the  hides,  and  scraped  them  with 
wooden  scrapers.  After  scraping  them  well  I  rubbed 
them  over  with  hot  wood  ashes  from  the  fire,  till  they 
were  well  enough  for  the  present.  After  that  I  had  a 
strange  feeling  that  more  was  about  to  happen.  I  felt 
drawn,  as  though  by  the  brook,  to  go  down  to  the  sea. 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  125 

I  kept  repeating  to  myself,  "  Down  to  the  sea ;  go  down 
to  the  seashore.  It  is  only  four  hundred  yards  away," 
till  it  was  like  a  tiresome  song,  whicli  one  cannot  get 
from  one's  head.  So  I  said  to  Don  Carlos  that  I  would 
go  off  down  to  the  seashore,  and  back  along  it  to  the  bay 
where  the  sloop  had  been  lost,  to  tell  the  other  hands 
that  it  would  be  well  to  camp  where  our  fires  were 
lighted.  I  built  up  a  load  of  firewood  before  I  started, 
so  that  Don  Carlos  might  not  be  overworked,  and  then 
set  off,  wondering  what  new  miracle  was  about  to  hap- 
pen. I  knew  that  something  strange  was  about  to  hap- 
pen. If  the  devil  things,  which  the  blacks  are  said  to 
worship  in  the  forest,  had  come  out  to  greet  me,  I  should 
not  have  been  surprised.  I  felt  that  all  the  air  was 
full  of  wonderful  presences,  which  were  moving  the 
thoughts  on  my  brain  as  a  player  moves  chessmen  on 
a  board.  I  felt  that  it  needed  only  a  snap  of  the  fingers 
to  make  me  see  those  presences. 

I  followed  along  the  little  brook,  till  the  scrub  closed 
in  upon  it  so  thickly  that  I  had  to  move  more  to  one 
side.  The  scrub,  though  thick,  was  not  tall;  but  there 
were  many  uprooted  trees  tossed  in  all  directions.  A 
tornado  had  once  swept  that  way.  After  a  while  the 
brook  broadened  out  into  a  pool  —  a  pleasant  little  pool, 
with  tall  grass  but  no  trees  upon  its  borders,  and  a  little 
artificial  fall  at  its  further  end.  I  saw  at  once  that 
about  a  year  before  a  camp  had  been  there.  The  camp- 
ers had  built  up  the  pool,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  for  con- 
venience in  filling  their  water-casks.  I  guessed  from 
that  that  they  were  sailors  who  had  watered  their  ship 


126  LOST  EiNDEAVOUR 

there;  but,  whoever  they  were,  it  was  plain  that  they 
had  stayed  for  some  time.  Looking  about  me  I  soon 
came  across  their  huts,  with  the  bed  sticks,  or  barbecues, 
on  which  the  skins  of  their  cots  had  been  stretched,  still 
standing  in  the  ground.  There  were  charred  twigs  on 
the  hearthstones,  and  light  ash  scattered  here  and  there, 
not  yet  blown  away.  There  were  eight  barbecues  alto- 
gether, from  which  I  gathered  that  the  ship  had  been  a 
small  trading  sloop  with  eight  hands  in  her.  Looking 
about  among  the  scrub  (already  a  foot  high  inside  the 
hut),  I  found  a  broken  old  strap  (part  of  a  sheath 
knife  belt),  and  a  bull's  shoulder  blade  partly  polished, 
and  carved,  not  badly,  with  a  picture  of  a  ship  under 
topsails,  going  free,  flying  a  French  ensign.  I  gath- 
ered from  that  that  the  campers  were  Frenchmen.  The 
carver's  knife  had  slipped,  so  as  to  scratch  the  ship 
right  across,  and  he  had  abandoned  the  bone  as  spoiled. 
I  could  not  find  any  boucan  ashes  near  the  hut,  which 
made  it  clear  that  the  men  were  either  not  hunters  or 
extremely  bad  ones.  The  bull's  shoulder  blade,  being 
dry  and  old,  had  probably  been  picked  up  on  the  beach. 
I  was  just  making  up  a  little  theory  to  myself  about 
these  hunters,  telling  myself  that  they  had  come  there 
in  the  drought,  when  watering  must  have  been  a  slow 
process,  owing  to  the  shallowness  of  the  arroyo,  when  I 
saw  something  among  the  scrub,  a  little  further  down 
towards  where  the  surf  was  beating.  I  looked  again  to 
make  sure ;  but  there  was  no  doubt  of  it.  A  sloop  lay 
high  and  dry,  a  hundred  yards  from  the  sea;  her  bows 
in  the  hedge  of  greenery  which  marked  the  limit  of  the 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  127 

forest,  her  stern  in  the  shingle  of  the  beach.  She  had 
been  brought  in  by  a  tidal  wave,  and  let  down  there, 
seemingly  unhurt,  on  an  even  keel.  The  wave  which 
brought  her  in  had  probably  uprooted  the  trees,  and 
then  sucked  back,  leaving  her  stranded.  The  huts  by 
the  little  pool  had  been  made  by  her  crew.  I  tell  you, 
the  sloop  was  a  beauty  of  the  world ;  strong  as  a  roving 
bull,  and  of  a  model  like  a  swan.  She  was  in  good 
trim,  too,  even  after  a  year  on  the  beach ;  for  her  crew 
before  leaving  her  had  covered  her  with  tarred  canvas 
ever}^where,  ports,  hatches,  deck  and  planking;  a  hard 
black  waterproof  case  for  her.  But  what  I  could  not 
find  was  the  reason  for  her  abandonment.  Why  had 
her  eight  men  left  her  alone  there,  carefully  sealed, 
when  they  might  so  easily  have  got  her  off  and  put  to 
sea  ?  Her  anchors  were  still  at  the  bows,  with  good 
chain  cable,  none  of  the  hawser  stuff,  to  warp  her  out  by. 
But,  no.  There  she  was,  snug  and  secure,  after  a  year 
ashore,  while  her  men  were  gone.  That  they  had 
planned  to  come  back  was  evident.  Otherwise  they 
would  never  have  covered  her.  I  could  not  imagine 
why  they  should  have  left  her.  Plainly  their  business 
(whatever  it  was)  had  taken  them  inshore.  If  they 
had  been  going  to  another  part  of  the  sea-coast  they 
would  have  got  the  sloop  off  and  gone  by  sea.  A  mo- 
ment more  showed  me  that  their  business  had  been  de- 
cided upon  at  the  last  moment,  after  careful  prepara- 
tions to  get  the  sloop  off  to  sea.  They  had  been  hard  at 
work  cutting  rollers  from  the  trees  broken  down  by  the 
wave.     They  had  cut  about  twenty  or  thirty  with  one 


128  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

small-headed  axe.  I  could  tell  that  they  had  had  only 
one  axe  by  the  marks  on  the  trees.  The  blade  (one 
could  see  it  plainly)  had  a  notch  knocked  in  its  edge; 
it  did  not  cut  clean.  All  the  rollers  had  been  cut  by  a 
notched  axe;  and  the  cuts  were  so  small  that  only  a 
small  axe  could  have  cut  them.  I  saw  now  why  the 
men  had  taken  the  trouble  to  build  huts.  The  wood- 
cutting must  have  been  a  long  job.  Very  likely  they 
were  at  work  for  a  week  upon  those  rollers.  The  wood 
was  almost  as  hard  as  ironwood,  it  was  a  strong,  dense, 
darkish-fibred  wood.  I  have  seen  the  like  elsewhere; 
the  Indians  call  it  manchi. 


Now  before  I  went  any  further  I  sat  down  to  puzzle 
out  the  problem.  A  party  of  men  had  been  shipwrecked. 
They  had  gone  to  work  to  get  their  ship  to  sea.  Sud- 
denly they  had  left  their  ship  after  protecting  her  care- 
fully against  all  possible  hurt  by  wind  and  weather. 
They  had  gone  off  inland  intending  to  come  back,  and 
they  had  not  come  back.  "What  could  have  tempted 
them  inland  ?  For  a  moment  I  thought  that  they  might 
have  been  taken  off  by  a  ship;  but  that  I  decided  was 
improbable,  impossible.  What  shipman  would  have 
left  such  a  ship  as  the  sloop  ashore?  It  was  not  pos- 
sible. I  went  up  to  the  sloop  and  swung  myself  on  to 
her  deck,  intending  to  open  up  her  cabin-hatch,  which 
was  firmly  battened  down  with  wedged  battens.     In 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  129 

one  of  the  wedges  a  roll  of  oilskin  had  been  jammed. 
I  pulled  it  out  and  opened  it,  and  found  inside  it  a  leaf 
from  a  "  Seaman's  Friend,"  with  a  little  writing  in 
black  lead  on  the  unprinted  side  of  it.  This  was  what 
it  said, — 

"  Sloop  Wanderer.  Cap  Josiah  Teat.  Goin  off 
this  day,  seven  hands  all  well.  The  gold-fields.  The 
glorus  gold-fields.  If  you  put  in  here,  Cap  Knight, 
respeck  our  nise  loop  Indian  bob  noes  glorus  gold-fields 
to  command  J.T." 

There  was  no  date,  and  no  superscription.  It  was, 
however,  plain  that  the  sloop's  crew  had  marched  away 
into  the  wilds  to  look  for  some  gold-fields.  Indian  Bob 
was  probably  a  slave  who  had  taken  to  the  woods  like 
myself,  and  happened  upon  them  while  they  were  cut- 
ting the  rollers.  The  Jamaican  woods  were  full  of 
Indian  Bobs  in  my  time.  They  were  mostly  forest  In- 
dians from  the  Mosquito  country.  They  used  to  get 
away  pretty  easily,  for  no  white  man  can  watch  an  In- 
dian. Then  they  would  wander  about  in  the  forests, 
living  like  wild  beasts,  till  perhaps  they  fell  in  with 
each  other  and  set  up  house  there,  or  reached  the  coast 
and  went  a-roving  with  some  gang.  They  are  useful  to 
catch  fish,  some  of  them.  Any  Indian  Bob,  if  you 
listened  to  him,  would  tell  you  of  glorious  gold-fields, 
and  perhaps  only  mean  really  that  you  could  get  plenty 
of  meat  there.  This  particular  Indian  Bob  had  be- 
witched this  gang  of  Captain  Teat's,  however ;  and  there 


130  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

they  were,  gone.  Either  they  had  found  the  gold-fields, 
and  become  too  rich  to  botlier  about  the  sloop,  or  they 
had  died  on  the  way.  That  was  plain  enough.  As 
for  gold-fields,  well,  I  believe  that  the  hills  are  full  of 
gold,  if  one  could  only  find  it.  The  Indians  had  the 
secret  in  old  time.  It  is  there  still  if  you  stupid  Eng- 
lishmen care  to  look  for  it.  I  hoped  that  Captain  Teat 
and  his  expected  friend  Captain  Knight  would  by  this 
time  be  rich  enough  to  go  cruising  in  frigates.  Eor 
myself,  who  was  not  so  rich  as  that,  this  sloop  seemed 
exactly  suitable.  I  took  out  my  knife  and  cut  away 
a  part  of  the  tarpaulin  covering,  so  that  I  could  blaze 
my  name  on  her  upper  planks  as  a  sign  that  I  took  pos- 
session. 

The  crew  came  back  along  the  coast  with  me,  but 
not  in  time  to  take  off  the  sloop's  cover  that  night.  We 
had  too  much  to  do  before  dark,  helping  Don  Carlos  at 
the  boucanning  meat,  gathering  firewood,  rescraping 
and  ash-curing  the  hides,  building  up  huts  for  the  night, 
and  getting  supper  ready.  After  our  work  we  lay  about 
the  fire,  smoking,  talking  of  the  sloop,  wondering  what 
she  might  contain.  One  of  the  men  there  had  sailed 
with  Captain  Teat  long  before  in  a  trading-vessel.  "  A 
big,  ugly,  red-chopped  lad;  a  pretty  hard  case  all 
over  "  was  what  he  called  him.  Latterly,  so  he  had 
heard,  he  had  been  roving  on  the  main  with  many 
others ;  but  as  to  his  luck  at  the  gold-fields  no  one  had 
heard.  We  had  a  quiet  camp  there.  Our  presence 
frightened  away  the  wild  things,  and  the  smoke  of  the 
fires  kept  away  the  mosquitoes.     In  the  morning  we 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  131 

breakfasted  off  meat,  ship's  bread,  and  wild  plantains. 
Then,  leaving  a  band  by  the  fire  to  see  that  the  meat 
took  the  smoke,  we  went  to  the  sloop  and  ripped  her 
tarpaulins  from  her  hatchways.  A  heave  of  a  crowbar 
opened  her  cabin  to  us.  We  went  down  and  forced 
open  the  skylight. 

VI 

When  we  could  see  we  found  ourselves  in  a  neat 
sloop's  cabin,  some  twelve  feet  square.  There  were 
two  bunks  on  each  side,  small  chase  ports  on  each  side 
of  the  rudder  head,  and  a  table,  or  rather  a  flap  of  wood 
working  on  a  hinge  which  could  be  used  as  a  table, 
against  the  forward  wall.  The  bunks  had  green  baize 
curtains  to  them.  They  were  all  neatly  made  up  and 
folded  down,  with  the  mosquito  pipes,  privateer  fash- 
ion, stuck  in  a  rack  within  reach  of  the  sleeper,  all 
ready  loaded  with  sitra  leaf,  to  make  a  smoke  if  the 
mosquitoes  were  troublesome.  In  one  of  the  bunks 
there  was  a  bookshelf  arranged  against  the  bulkhead  at 
the  port.  It  contained  a  tinder-box,  a  pair  of  small 
brass-headed  Spanish  pistols,  a  bullet-mould,  a  small 
wooden  box  containing  silver  buttons  and  a  bit  of  crude 
turquoise,  a  copy  of  the  works  of  Quevedo,  very  filthy 
and  half-gutted,  and  half  a  dozen  obsidian  arrow-heads 
of  the  kind  the  Indians  use.  What  struck  me  most 
about  the  cabin  was  its  neatness  and  cleanness.  The 
guns  were  not  in  their  <;jirriages  (we  found  them  after- 
wards, wrapped  in  bast  and  carefully  tallowed,  in  the 


132  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

hold,  in  a  box  by  themselves,  small  one  and  a  half 
pounder  guns  made  of  brass,  and  of  the  long  kind,  so 
that  they  carried  nearly  a  mile,  very  truly),  but  the 
ropes  of  the  gun  carriages  had  been  coiled  as  though 
for  a  king's  inspection.  In  the  lockers  under  the  bunks 
were  clothes  neatly  put  avray  with  lumps  of  sandal- 
wood. There  was  a  box  of  tobacco-leaf,  gone  very  dry 
and  brittle,  and  a  few  curios  of  the  kind  seamen  buy; 
strings  of  Indian  beads,  feather  mats  and  fans,  priests' 
dresses  made  of  macaw-tails,  all  the  usual  gear.  In 
one  of  the  lockers  were  some  bo'sun's  stores,  spikes, 
fids,  and  nails  (for  trade  as  well  as  for  use),  and  many 
balls  of  spunyarn.  Under  the  cabin  floor  was  a  maga- 
zine, or  rather  a  strongly  fenced  off  part  of  the  after- 
hold.  The  walls  of  it  were  all  thickly  lined  with  felt, 
for  there  were  powder  barrels  stored  in  this  place,  as 
well  as  a  plentiful  store  of  provisions.  The  biscuit 
tank,  which  was  of  iron,  was  full  of  Spanish  rusk, 
packed  in  wood  with  thin  lead  coverings.  It  was  all 
as  fresh  as  though  it  had  just  come  piping  hot  from  the 
ovens  at  Havana.  The  other  tanks  and  barrels  con- 
tained boucanned  beef,  in  need  of  a  new  boucanning. 
I  had  them  sent  on  deck  at  once  and  rolled  away  to 
the  fires  to  be  burnt.  At  one  side  of  the  magazine  was 
a  sail-locker,  very  awkwardly  placed,  containing  two 
suits  of  sails,  much  patched  and  worn. 

"  That  is  the  after  guard,"  I  said.  "  ITow  forward 
to  the  main  hatch  to  see  what  she  carries  in  her  hold." 

When  we  lifted  up  the  hatch  we  came  upon  the  guns 
all  carefully  laid  away  in  their  jackets.     There  were 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  133 

two  chase-guns,  as  I  have  said,  and  four  long  threes 
for  the  upper  deck,  as  heavy  an  armoury  as  such  a 
boat  could  endure.  Besides  the  guns  there  were  bales 
of  Spanish  goods  (mostly  vicuna  wool  and  piacaba), 
water-breakers  in  good  number,  arid  enough  ship's  stores 
to  fit  out  a  frigate,  let  alone  a  sloop.  I  suppose  Cap- 
tain Teat  had  fallen  in  with  one  of  the  small  store 
ships  which  sail  with  the  annual  treasure  fleets,  bound 
towards  Spain  from  Vera  Cruz.  After  looking  into 
the  hatch  I  ordered  some  of  the  hands  to  get  the  water- 
breakers  emptied  over  the  side,  while  I  went  forward 
to  have  a  look  into  the  f o'c'sle.  This  was  rather  a 
difficult  business,  for  the  heels  of  the  spare  spars  were 
lashed  do^vn  on  the  fo'c'sle  scuttle.  While  these  were 
being  shifted  I  looked  into  the  fore^peak,  where  I 
found  a  small  supply  of  firewood,  and  the  ship's  run- 
ning and  standing  rigging  all  coiled  and  ticketed,  ready 
to  be  sent  aloft  again.  Whatever  else  Captain  Teat 
may  be,  he  is  certainly  an  artist  of  a  sailor.  He  had 
cared  for  that  little  sloop  as  tenderly  as  though  she 
were  his  child.  I  have  never  seen  a  ship  in  such  order. 
Never. 

.When  I  got  down  into  the  fo'c'sle  I  found  four  cot 
bunks  ready  for  use,  as  neatly  made  up  as  those  in 
the  cabin  had  been.  The  room  was  small,  and  not  very 
well  arranged,  as  there  was  a  standing  table  in  the 
middle  which  took  up  much  space.  The  walls  had 
been  painted  a  bright  white  for  coolness;  and  some  one 
had  painted  a  ship  flying  past  under  topsails  all  round 
the  house,  an  English  ship  chasing  a  French  ship  (or 


134  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

was  it  the  other  way  about?)  so  swiftly  that  you  could 
see  the  foam  flying  up  under  the  bows,  and  the  scarlet 
of  the  banners  crinkling.  I  suppose  it  had  been  done 
by  the  Frenchman  who  carved  the  bull's  bone.  There 
were  five  sea-chests  either  round  the  table  or  under  it, 
four  of  them  unlocked,  the  fifth  lashed  up  and  sealed. 

The  four  which  were  open  contained  sailors'  clothes 
of  the  usual  kinds  —  thin  duck  and  dungaree,  slip- 
pers worked  with  beads,  spare  knives,  spare  hats,  soap, 
plug  tobacco,  pipes,  oddments  from  the  islands,  canes 
made  from  sharks'  spines,  queer  shells,  money,  gold 
dust,  silver  ornaments  and  silver  crude.  The  sealed 
chest  was  more  interesting.  It  contained  two  suits  of 
fine  white  Spanish  drill  with  large  silver  buttons. 
Underneath  the  suits  were  green  silk  shirts,  and  a  lot 
of  laced  things,  all  stolen  from  the  Spaniards  no 
doubt.  Beneath  these  were  a  ballad-book,  a  prayer- 
book,  a  book  of  sermons,  two  or  three  pairs  of  raw-hide 
slippers,  and  a  layer  of  thick  bamboo-joints  as  big 
round  as  a  man's  leg.  All  these  pieces  of  bamboo  were 
about  two  feet  long,  and  stopped  most  carefully  at  the 
ends  with  plugs  of  wax  covered  over  with  tarpaulin. 
The  canvas  was  tightly  served  down  upon  the  wax,  so 
that  each  piece  of  cane  made  a  bottle  or  box. 

"  Say,"  said  Don  Carlos,  who  had  come  down  to  see 
what  was  in  the  fo'c'sle,  "  why  was  the  chest  locked,  and 
what  is  in  the  bamboo,  anyway  ?  " 

I  said  that  the  owner  of  the  chest  had  probably  died 
on  the  voyage,  and  that  the  captain  had  sealed  up  his 
belongings  so  as  to  hand  them  over  to  his  relations. 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  135 

As  for  the  bamboos,  they  were  a  privateer's  waterproof 
cases.  I  have  seen  privateers  on  the  march  shmg  about 
with  just  such  cases,  one  containing  powder,  another 
shot,  another  his  maps  of  anchorages,  his  journal, 
brushes,  colours,  and  pencils,  a  fourth  his  provision,  a 
fifth  his  money.  They  are  easily  made  and  replaced. 
You  cut  the  bamboo  down  with  one  blow  of  a  machete, 
chop  off  as  much  as  you  need,  stop  the  end  with  bees- 
wax, slip  in  your  goods,  stop  the  other  end,  and  march 
on.  If  you  fall  into  a  river  or  the  sea  they  cannot  sink, 
nor  can  the  water  penetrate  them. 

When  we  had  examined  the  fo'c'sle  we  opened  a  lit- 
tle iron  box  of  a  deck-house  which  was  chained  to  the 
deck  near  the  mast.  It  was  a  tiny  cook-room,  just  big 
enough  for  the  cook,  the  fireplace,  and  the  oven.  In- 
side it,  when  we  entered,  were  the  harness  cask  and 
scuttle  butt,  which  I  ordered  to  be  placed  on  deck  in 
their  proper  places.  After  this  I  went  down  alone  into 
the  cabin,  and  broke  the  wax  seal  upon  the  first  of  the 
dead  man's  bamboos. 


VII 

I  tell  you  that  that  morning  in  the  cabin  was  like 
the  other  world  breaking  in  upon  me.  There  I  was 
in  the  cabin  of  a  handsome  ship,  captain  of  a  crew, 
after  being  a  little  lonely  hunted  thing  flying  from  my 
master's  heirs  —  a  slave,  a  nothing,  a  convict.  Out- 
side,*I  could  hear  the  songs  of  the  seamen  as  they  built 
up  a  fire  near  the  huts,  so  that  they  might  finish  their 


136  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

boucan  nearer  to  the  sloop.  The  sunlight  slanted  down 
the  skylight  all  around  me.  The  breeze  brought  in  a 
faint  smell  of  pitoma  blossom,  with  some  whiff  of  the 
sea  too,  so  that  I  learned  to  taste  the  very  spirit  of 
the  island  at  each  breath.  It  was  perhaps  only  fancy, 
but  as  I  sat  there  I  thought  that  that  voice  in  my  brain 
spoke  to  me,  saying,  ''  See  what  I  have  done  for  you. 
See  how  I  have  cleared  the  way  for  you.  Open  the 
bamboos ;  open  them."  And  I  had  a  fanciful  impres- 
sion that  the  cabin  was  full  of  seamen  looking  at  me 
—  Captain  Teat  and  his  gang,  red-faced  Captain  Teat, 
and  Indian  Bob  in  his  leopard  skin,  and  the  white- 
faced  keen  Frenchman  who  had  painted  the  ships. 
There  was  another  person  there  too  —  a  tall  man,  with 
long  black  hair  falling  over  his  shoulders,  and  his  face 
all  tanned  like  an  Indian's.  I  saw  him  in  my  mind 
quite  clearly.  I  saw  him  leaning  over  to  watch  me, 
putting  back  the  lace  from  his  green  silk  shirt  with 
one  hand,  while  the  other  rested  on  the  table.  He  was 
smiling  at  me;  he  was  the  man  whose  chest  I  had 
opened ;  he  was  the  dead  man  whose  writings  were  wait- 
ing on  the  table. 

The  first  bamboo,  when  opened,  contained  a  little  box 
of  Indian  pigments,  very  bright  and  lively,  and  a  bun- 
dle of  those  spindle-whorls,  which  are  really  Inca 
writing,  I  had  seen  things  of  the  same  kind  before; 
but  it  struck  me  that  these  particular  spindle-whorls 
were  made  rather  differently  from  those  which  I  had 
seen  in  the  past.  They  were  differently  coloured,  and 
the  bulb,  or  knob  in  the  middle,  seemed  to  me  to  be 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  137 

enamelled  instead  of  painted.  The  paints  in  the  box 
had  been  used  fairly  frequently.  The  little  bamboo 
finger- joints  in  which  they  were  packed  were  about  half 
empty.  At  the  bottom  of  the  case  were  some  European 
pencils  and  brashes,  as  well  as  a  couple  of  those  Indian 
brushes.  Do  you  know  what  an  Indian  brush  is  ?  It 
is  a  piece  of  a  hardish  fibrous  wood,  burnt  straight  and 
pointed,  and  then  gnawed  at  the  end  by  an  Indian 
woman,  till  the  fibres  are  all  distinct  and  soft,  like  the 
hairs  in  a  European  brush.  There  were  two  of  these 
in  the  case.  When  I  saw  them,  I  knew  that  the  dead 
man  had  lived  a  goodish  while  in  an  Indian  town;  for 
the  brushes  are  women's  property,  and  hard  to  come 
at.  You  can  get  a  bow  or  a  few  arrow-heads  from 
a  buck  for  a  couple  of  big  beads ;  but  the  brushes  and 
women's  gear  you  cannot  buy:  they  are  half  sacred, 
or  something.  You  can  only  get  them  if  you  become 
one  of  the  tribe,  like  one  of  my  friends  long  ago.  The 
whorls  were  interesting,  the  pigments  and  brushes  were 
suggestive.  The  dead  man  had  been  among  the  In- 
dians more  than  was  usual,  and  had  obtained  their  con- 
fidence, and  some  unusual  curios.  On  the  whole,  I 
was  disappointed  with  the  contents  of  the  first  bam- 
boo; but  they  taught  me  one  thing,  that  the  owner  had 
done  unusual  things,  and  must  therefore  have  been  an 
unusual  man.  You  stupid  Englishmen  could  never 
have  reckoned  so  cleverly.  You  would  not  have  thought 
of  that.  You  do  not  know  that  an  unusual  man  is  apt 
to  act  unusuall}'  —  eh  ?  You  think  that  an  unusual 
man  must  be  mad,  because  he  does  not  behave  like  an 


138  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

idiot  like  the  rest  of  you  ?  Well,  I  put  everything  back 
into  its  case,  and  opened  the  second  bamboo. 

N^ow,  in  the  second  bamboo  there  was  nothing  but 
an  oiled  skin  roll  containing  a  lot  of  maps  and  charts, 
very  beautifully  drawn  on  good  paper.  I  did  not  look 
through  them  very  carefully;  for  I  had  only  to  glance 
at  them,  so  as  to  catch  their  titles,  to  see  that  they  were 
mostly  of  the  coasts  of  the  Main,  from  about  Chiriqui, 
northwards  past  Cape  Thanks-to-God,  to  Cape  Catoche, 
Tide  Lake,  the  Haulover  and  Vera  Cruz  —  parts  of 
the  world  which  I  had  not  then  visited.  I  rolled  them 
up  and  put  them  to  one  side,  with  the  reflection  that 
the  dead  man  was  an  artist  of  no  mean  merit,  as  well 
as  a  clever  seaman,  to  have  made  such  beautiful  maps. 
His  name  was  upon  one  of  the  maps,  idly  written  down 
as  one  sometimes  writes  one's  name  so  as  to  fix  a 
memory.  "  Lorenzo  O'Neill,  in  the  ship  Wanderer, 
Captain  Christian,  Comr.,  June  1st  in  ye  p.m.  1674, 
off  Roatan,  Barbareta  estm'd  N.E.  4  miles,  and  a  fine 
brisk  breeze,  6  m,  under  whole  topsails."  I  suppose 
he  had  written  down  all  that  so  that  in  years  to  come 
he  might  remember  the  very  details  of  the  evening  in 
which  he  wrote  them,  the  sight  of  the  distant  island, 
the  noise  of  the  wind  and  the  ship  straining.  Well,  he 
was  dead  now,  and  would  remember  nothing  more  at  all, 
not  even  his  strange  outlandish  name.  I  turned  to  case 
number  three. 

In  the  third  case  there  were  two  oiled  skin  rolls, 
each  containing  a  soft,  large,  pliable  book  of  very  good 
thin  paper.     One  book  was  closely  written  on  both  sides 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  139 

of  the  pages,  in  very  black  ink,  with  scarlet  capitals,  in 
Lorenzo  O'lS^eiU's  hand.  It  made  a  sort  of  journal 
of  his  life  from  1683  to  1691;  but  most  of  it  was  a 
dry  record  of  courses  and  day's  runs,  with  the  direction 
of  the  wind  and  the  quantity  of  water  still  aboard  added 
in  hieroglyphs.  There  were  large  gaps  in  the  narra- 
tive, as  in  all  seamen's  logs,  whenever  the  ship  lay  in 
harbour  or  careening.  After  these  gaps  there  was  gen- 
erally a  long,  very  interesting  piece  of  narrative,  de- 
scribing the  setting  out  of  a  new  voyage  or  foray,  with 
the  reasons  for  it  and  the  equipment.  The  entries 
would  then  become  shorter  and  shorter,  till  at  last  they 
would  be  the  bald  notes  and  sailing-master's  jottings 
of  which  I  have  told  you.  "  Course  N47  W.Lat. 
D.R.27.10.KDist.R.216  m.  Wind  gusty  to  fresh 
gale.  KE.  to  E.N.E.  W,  in  gallons,  177.  Bread 
ran  out.  Setting  up  lower  main  rigging.  Thompson's 
hands  very  bad.  ISToe  bolsom.  Carry'd  away  ye  fore 
boline  in  ye  a.m." 

That  is  a  very  good  specimen  of  the  entries  w^hich 
sailing-master  Lorenzo  O'lSTeill  wrote,  after  he  had  set- 
tled down  to  the  business  of  cruising.  The  larger  en- 
tries were  more  amusing.  One  of  them  ran  like 
this :  — 

"  So  when  Captain  Hudsel  began  to  be  reasonable 
merry  (as  to  give  him  his  due  he  never  exceeded  in  his 
liquor),  I  went  ashore  to  avoid  the  noise  of  their  sing- 
ing and  the  Smoak  of  their  Tobacco,  which  did  ever 
offend  me,  thof  it  is  common  to  that  extent  it  is  a  Vice. 


140  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

There  were  no  Lights  in  the  Indian  Town,  not  soe 
much  as  a  Fire.  It  was  one  of  their  God's  Feast-days, 
which  they  keep  up  at  a  great  Rate  among  themselves. 
They  were  all  in  their  Paw-waw  House,  making  such 
an  Uproar  as  you  would  think  a  Basket  of  Cats  was 
murdered.  This  they  do,  as  Don  Andreas  confessed, 
to  make  their  God  speake.  I  could  not  learne  the 
Ceremony  as  they  doe  practise.  It  in  part  consists 
of  going  to  the  Paw-waw  House  mother-naked,  and 
houling  and  scraitching  there  like  Wild  Beasts  and 
other  strange  Animals,  till  they  are  all  of  a  muck- 
sweat  and  fit  to  burst.  What  other  Eites  they  may 
practise  there  I  confess  I  am  ignorant  of;  nor  did  I 
ever  meet  with  one  who  had  seen  Em.  But  that  they 
had  a  god  or  devil  I  know  from  my  own  experience, 
for  it  chanced  I  crep  very  close  to  the  Paw-waw  House 
at  the  very  Nick  or  Moment  when  they  fell  Silent 
after  a  Howl,  as  they  doe  always  out  of  a  Reverence, 
to  let  his  Devilship  have  his  Say,  belike.  In  that  Mo- 
ment of  Time  I  heard  a  small  quaking  Voice,  answer- 
ing to  their  questions  which  I  do  suppose  their  priests, 
or  Wise  Men,  had  put  before  hand.  It  was  much  such 
a  Voice  as  you  might  expect  an  old  Monkey  to  speake 
with,  rather  high  and  as't  were  wavery,  but  not  hu- 
man, nor  was  it  Indian,  who  speake  always  very  round 
in  the  throat,  like  the  low  Irish,  as  they  are  called,  in 
the  Towns  about  Limerick,  where  I  was  as  a  Boy  in 
one  of  the  Beef-Ships,  supplying  the  King's  Fleet  in  K. 
Charles  his  Time.  It  was  very  plain  and  terrifying, 
and  to  be  round  with  you,  the  Moonlight  turned  all 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  141 

one  Ghoast  to  me  so  as  I  fled  aboard  again.  I  learned 
ye  next  day  that  Don  Andreas  took  it  very  111  of  me 
that  I  had  been  so  wanting  in  good  manners  as  to 
Eavesdrop  upon  his  God-ship,  which  they  call  in  their 
paltry  Tongue,  Tah-um-ba,  as  much  as  to  say  Big 
King  or  Strong  King,  so  that  I  had  even  to  give 
him  a  new  hatchet,  and  some  beads  for  his  Wife,  to 
bring  him  to  be  pacified.  For  to  tell  the  truth  they 
are  a  mean  ignorant  Sett,  quickly  brought  about  from 
one  Opinion  to  T'other,  so  as  we  may  say  among  our- 
selves, one  may  be  a  King's  Minister  and  a  King's  din- 
ner, all  in  one  day,  among  'em.  Yet  they  have  this 
Commune  or  Familiar,  which  works  strange  Matters 
as  I  have  seen,  so  as  it  might  be  worth  a  Man's  while 
to  enquire  into  it,  what  Art  they  have  in  the  Occult 
Way,  I  mean  for  the  enlargement  of  Human  Knowl- 
edge, which  must  ever  be  the  aim  of  a  Rational  Man. 
And  to  speake  Truth  I  am  inclined  to  the  Opinion  that 
they  may  be  of  the  generation  of  the  Ishmaelites,  who 
wandered  abroad  in  the  Patriark's  Time,  and  may  have 
kept  among  'em  some  Scraps  of  Original  Art,  as  it  is 
seen  the  Gipsies  have,  which  may  be  of  the  same  thiev- 
ish blood  if  all  were  known,  as  D*"  Le  Page  setts  out,  who 
is  a  Member  of  the  K  of  F's  Household.  Yett  this  I 
leave  to  the  Learned  in  such  matters.  They  are  above 
the  Stretch  of  a  plain  Tarpawling.     To  proceed." 

I  studied  this  log-book  long  enough  to  find  out  what 
sort  of  a  man  Lorenzo  O'iSTeill  had  been,  and  what  he 
had  done  in  the  world.     What  his  early  life  had  been, 


142  LOST  EN"DEAVOUIl 

who  can  tell  ?  He  began  suddenly,  in  1674,  as  the 
sailing-master  of  the  ship  Wanderer,  evidently  an 
English  ship,  under  Captain  Christian,  a  Erenchman, 
famous  ten  years  later  all  over  the  Indies  for  his  tak- 
ing of  the  town  of  Veraguas,  without  finding  there  a 
silver  sixpence  to  reward  his  pains.  From  his  alliance 
with  Captain  Christian  I  guessed  that  O'Neill  had  taken 
to  the  privateering  life  through  some  mishap,  such  as 
shipwreck  or  capture  by  the  Spaniards.  Otherwise,  he 
would  have  been  with  an  English  captain.  This  was 
a  guess,  but  a  guess  from  evidence,  even  slight  evidence, 
is  not  called  a  guess,  but  imagination.  After  1683  he 
had  cruised  about  along  the  western  parts  of  the  Main, 
taking  prizes  and  amassing  money  from  them  —  about 
five  hundred  pounds  in  seven  years,  as  little  marginal 
sums  in  red  ink  declared.  His  interests  were  scientific, 
not  personal.  He  went  privateering  more  from  a  love 
of  discovery  than  for  money.  Towards  the  end  of  his 
cruising,  especially  (as  it  seemed  to  me  from  a  hasty 
reading)  after  his  adventure  with  the  devil's  voice  in 
the  Paw-waw  house,  he  took  evident  interest  in  the  In- 
dians. I  put  the  log-book  down  and  took  up  the  other 
book. 

ISTow,  this  second  book  puzzled  me  indeed;  for 
though  it  was  written  it  was  all  in  sjnubols  and  hier- 
oglyphics, of  all  colours  and  of  outlandish  shapes,  like 
Egyptian  writing.  It  was  dated,  in  the  beginning 
page,  1690.  At  the  other  end  of  it  (for  I  turned  it 
over  to  see  if  there  were  any  clue  at  the  end)  was  a 
dictionary  of  Indian  words,  with  their  English  and 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  143 

Spanish  meanings  —  about  six  hundred  words  in  all ; 
and  a  further  list  of  Indian  bird,  beast,  tree,  fruit, 
flower,  and  plant  names,  with  the  uses  to  which  the  In- 
dians had  put  them.  After  this  were  short  stories  or 
pieces  of  writing  in  the  Indian  tongue,  which  by  this 
time,  I  suppose,  O'lSTeill  had  learned  pretty  perfectly. 
Each  piece  of  writing  was  headed  by  a  symbol,  or  more 
than  one  symbol,  of  the  kinds  used  at  the  beginning  of 
the  book.  What  in  the  world  the  book  signified  I 
could  not  think.  It  was  as  great  a  puzzle  to  me  as  the 
Chinese  alphabet.  But  at  last,  after  saying  to  myself, 
"  What  would  you  have  done  had  you  been  interested 
in  the  Indians  ?  "  the  puzzle  began  to  gTow  more  clear. 
O'Neill  had  made  a  list  of  the  Indian  words,  and  then 
a  sort  of  dictionaiy  of  the  Indian  learning,  the  knowl- 
edge of  plants  and  creatures,  etc.,  such  as  the  Indians 
from  their  way  of  life  must  be  very  expert  at.  After 
that  I  presumed  he  had  wanted  to  know  something  of 
the  Indian  philosophy,  their  explanation  of  the  world, 
their  gods  and  devils,  their  sacred  seasons,  their  laws 
both  social  and  moral,  their  religion  and  observances, 
their  gospels  and  mythologies,  and  their  legends  and 
half-remembered  traditions,  handed  down  in  a  blurred 
way  from  the  days  before  the  Incas.  Surely,  I  thought, 
this  is  what  he  would  have  wanted  to  do  after  taking 
the  trouble  (and  it  must  have  been  great  trouble)  to 
make  a  dictionary.  Perhaps,  I  said  to  myself  as  I 
read,  all  this  writing  in  the  Indian  tongTie  is  a  report- 
ing of  what  they  have  told  him,  written  down  from 
notes  taken  at  the  time,  and  written  in  the  original 


144  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

lest  some  one  should  steal  the  manuscript,  since  there 
are  as  many  thieves  in  a  pirate  ship  as  in  a  church 
ashore  at  sermon  time.  "  But,"  I  argued  to  myself, 
"  all  this  picture-writing  is  strange  to  me.  I  know  not 
what  this  may  mean.  The  Indians  have  no  way  of 
writing,  except  the  crude  sign-writing  which  they  smear 
in  the  dust,  or  on  the  sand,  to  show  which  track  they 
have  taken  at  a  want-way.  Can  it  be  that  O'Neill  in 
his  wanderings  among  the  Indians  has  come  across 
some  key  to  the  writings  of  the  Mexicans,  and  is  this 
picture-writing  of  the  same  kind,  or  has  he  invented 
a  secret  hieroglyphic  alphabet  for  himself  ?  "  I  de- 
cided that  I  would  find  out  if  it  were  possible  for  me 
to  do  so.  Understand,  I  was  not  interested  —  I  was 
piqued,  I  was  curious.  I  was  not  going  to  be  baulked 
by  something  which  might  be  strange.  For,  since  my 
deliverance  from  my  enemies  and  all  those  marvels  in 
the  wood,  I  felt  that  those  lands  and  islands,  where 
the  moon  is  glorious  and  the  air  is  heavy  with  spice  as 
though  incense  was  always  being  crushed,  were  full  of 
all  manner  of  presences.  And  "  perhaps,"  I  thought, 
"  the  Indians  have  a  knowledge  of  these  presences,  and 
can  talk  with  them,  and  call  them  into  view."  This 
was  my  fancy.     I  turned  to  the  next  bamboo. 

In  this  there  was  a  long  bulky  roll  of  Indian  cotton 
of  a  dull  white  colour,  and  so  thick  that  it  filled  the 
case.  It  was,  as  I  supposed  at  first,  a  piece  of  Indian 
embroidery;  for  one  end  of  it  was  all  embroidered 
crudely  with  colours.  Looking  at  it  more  closely,  I 
saw  that  it  was  not  broidery  but  painting,  dashed  on 


I 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  145 

hurriedly,  and  done  bj  a  European,  not  by  an  Indian  at 
all.  There  were  attempts  at  shading  which  no  Indian 
would  have  done. 

"  It  must  be  a  copy,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  of  what 
an  Inca  painted  long  ago  on  the  wall  of  some  temple. 
Lorenzo  O'Neill  has  seen  this  temple.  And  the  writ- 
ing there  is  of  an  absorbing  interest.  He  has  tried  to 
make  a  copy  of  it  all  on  Indian  cotton  cloth,  the  only 
material  to  be  had  there.  But  it  gives  me  the  impres- 
sion that  he  has  not  had  time  to  finish  it.  What  has 
prevented  him  ?  What  stopped  the  record,  I  wonder  ?  " 
Something  told  me  in  my  heart  that  Death  had  stopped 
the  record.     I  turned  to  the  last  bamboo. 

In  the  last  bamboo  was  a  roll  of  parchment  which, 
when  flattened  out,  was  a  full  four  feet  by  four  feet. 
It  was  a  beautiful  map  of  the  island  which  (I  gather) 
is  known  to  pilots  as  Boca  del  Drago.  It  was  painted 
in  fair  colours,  with  little  pictures  of  ships  in  the  sea, 
and  dolphins  blowing  about  it,  tossing  white  water  up. 
The  anchorages  were  marked  with  bearings  and  sound- 
ings, so  that  any  man  might  take  a  ship  in  by  that 
map.  The  bays  where  the  turtle  fed  were  marked. 
The  patches  of  firing-wood  were  marked.  There  was 
no  spring  nor  brook  there  which  had  not  some  mark 
or  note  in  scarlet  ink  upon  it,  as  "  This  spring  is  un- 
wholesome in  the  Rains."  "  The  water  of  this  brook 
is  of  a  bitter  quality.  It  cured  Mr.  Home  of  ye  yellow 
fever,  as  he  supposed."  "  Here  the  water  falls  in  over 
a  Clift,  which  is  hard  to  come  at  by  boats  watering." 
A  note  in  the  margin,  under  the  map's  beautifully  writ- 


146  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

ten  title,  said  that  the  best  anchorage  was  up  a  small 
northern  creek,  which  widened  out  to  a  lagoon  or  haven 
with  a  fair  runlet  of  a  brook  and  a  good  dry  sandy  land- 
ing. But  that  all  who  came  to  the  island  were  to  be- 
ware of  the  Indians,  "  who  are  salvage  if  you  do  not 
bring  them  to  be  quiett  by  good  Treatment.  They  are 
secrett,  bloudy  salvages,  but  the  truth  is,  not  dangerous 
if  you  are  bold  among  'em,  calling  out  Mamaubah 
Meegah,  nor  will  they  make  any  sudden  Attack;  but 
Stragglers  alone  must  look  to  it,  if  they  venter  to  the 
Woods.  It  is,  as  they  esteem,  a  Sacred  Islet,  to  their 
kind  of  Godds.  The  savages  there  are  guards  to  the 
Mysteries.     They  will  not  brook  any  Sacrilege." 

At  the  foot  of  the  map  was  another  note,  in  a  sprawl- 
ing scro'llwork.  "  The  Temple  is  hard  to  find.  From 
it,  the  Roncadores  bear  N  10  E,  and  the  spur  of  ye 
Key  ]Sr  10  W.  It  lies  in  the  Apex.  You  cannot  fetch 
it  direct.     A  good  Rime  to  remember, — 

"  Past  the  Stone  Virgin.     Past  the  Scree.     And  uppe 
To  th'  old  King's  Tombe,  and  the  Devill's  drinking-cup. 
From  which  the  running  streame  will  surely  guide 
To  what  the  painted  Sepulcker  doth  hide. 

by  Lorenzo  O'Neill.  Sg.  Master.  1691." 

I  was  ignorant  of  the  Indian  tongues  at  that  time, 
but  having  these  books  in  my  hand  gave  me  an  inter- 
est in  them.  I  began  to  tell  myself  all  manner  of 
romantic  tales  about  the  Indians.  I  tried  to  decipher 
the  drawings  on  the  roll.  I  remember  saying  to  my- 
self that  I  would  learn  the  Indian  tongues  if  ever  a 
chance  offered.     As  to  the  map  of  the  island,  I  asked 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  147 

the  hands  if  they  knew  the  place.  They  said  that  they 
had  heard  that  it  was  one  of  the  Bay  Islands,  and  out 
of  the  track  of  ships.  I  said  to  myself  that  perhaps 
I  would  some  day  go  there,  and  find  out  what  the 
painted  Sepulcker  hid.  Well,  I  went  there.  I  found 
out. 

VIII 

When  we  had  repaired  that  little  sloop  we  hove  her 
down  to  the  sea  on  rollers,  and  floated  her.  We  filled 
her  with  beef  and  fresh  water,  and  put  to  sea  in  her, 
after  naming  her  the  Providence.  We  shaped  a  course 
first  for  Antigua,  where  we  sold  the  logwood  in  her  to 
a  dyer.  Here  we  engaged  a  Mosquito  fish-spearer 
named  Peter,  who  taught  me  (since  I  am  quick  at 
tongues)  the  Mosquito  language.  Then  we  wandered 
off  among  the  Samballoes,  to  live  the  life  of  the  pri- 
vateers there;  and  so,  little  by  little,  took  to  cruising 
for  the  Spanish  trade,  and  joining  the  Indians'  war- 
parties,  getting  a  little  gold-dust  and  a  little  chocolate, 
with  a  good  deal  of  fever  and  hard  knocks.  While  we 
were  among  the  Indians  of  those  parts  I  learned  a  lit- 
tle of  the  Andrea  tongue,  very  little,  but  enough  to 
get  along  by.  All  the  time,  wherever  I  was,  I  was 
busily  studying  that  record  of  Lorenzo  O'lSTeill's.  I 
soon  found  that  parts  of  it  were  written  in  the  Mos- 
quito speech,  but  these  parts  were  little  more  than  lists 
of  leaves  and  fruits,  with  their  virtues  and  the  beliefs 
attached  to  them.     The  rest  of  it  was  incomprehensible 


148  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

to  me,  for  I  knew  not  even  the  first  principle  of  the  old 
Indian  way  of  writing  in  which  O'Neill  with  incredible 
skill  and  patience  had  hidden  his  discoveries. 

After  a  month  or  two,  however,  chance  brought  me 
ashore  in  Campeachy,  at  one  of  the  logwood-cutters' 
camps  in  the  Lagoon  of  Tides,  and  here  I  got  upon  the 
puzzle. 

It  is  the  custom  in  these  camps  to  do  no  cutting  on 
Saturdays.  Instead  of  working  you  wash  the  scarlet 
off  your  arms,  and  take  your  gun  and  wander  off  into 
the  woods  to  fetch  your  beef  for  the  camp's  provisions. 
So  I,  who  was  feeling  that  my  destiny  had  brought  me 
thus  far  upon  my  way  only  to  leave  me  puzzling  at 
something  which  I  felt  to  be  very  wonderful,  went  into 
the  woods  alone  one  Saturday,  taking  a  straight  course 
to  the  savannah  lands,  where  (as  I  knew)  a  herd  of 
cattle  often  haunted  for  the  sweetness  of  the  gTass  which 
grew  there.  I  approached  well  to  leeward  of  the  feed- 
ing-ground and  came  upon  the  herd  unexpectedly  as  it 
trooped  to  fresh  pasture.  It  was  a  fine,  well-grown 
herd,  made  up,  as  I  suppose  all  these  herds  are,  of 
Sisal  cattle  gone  wild.  Looking  at  them,  I  noticed  in 
the  rearguard  of  them  a  young  bull  whose  hide  was 
almost  a  pure  white.  This  is  rare  among  the  wild 
cattle,  which  are  pale  or  pale^tawny.  This  young  bull 
must  have  joined  the  herd  newly  from  some  enclosure. 
There  were  Spanish  estancias  within  two  hundred  miles 
of  us.  He  must  have  come  from  one  of  those.  When 
I  saw  him  I  thought  to  myself  that  I  had  long  de- 
sired to  have  a  white  bull's  hide  for  my  cot-bed.     I 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  149 

vowed  that  I  would  either  have  this  bull's  hide  or  leave 
him  mine  there  on  the  held.  So,  after  waiting  till  the 
herd  had  almost  passed  me,  I  stepped  out  into  the  open 
opposite  this  young  bull,  and  waved  my  hat  to  him. 
He  was  marching  proudly  a  little  to  one  side  of  the 
cows,  so  as  to  raise  no  jealousy  in  the  leader  of  the 
herd.  I  stepped  towards  him,  whistling  softly  to  at- 
tract his  attention.  He  wheeled  and  turned  to  me, 
while  the  herd,  drawing  well  away,  fronted  to  watch, 
tossing  their  heads.  The  white  bull,  after  a  steady 
stare,  advanced  towards  me  with  his  muzzle  stretched 
out.  I  fired  and  hit  him,  but  not  very  severely.  He 
charged  at  once,  as  the  herd  galloped  off,  and  that  so 
suddenly  that  he  nearly  caught  me.  I  fired  again  as  I 
stepped  aside,  and  hit  him  so  hard  that  he  kept  his 
course  into  the  wood.  I  reloaded  my  gun  and  went 
after  him,  following  him  easily  by  the  swathe  he  had 
torn  in  the  scrub.  It  was  as  though  a  ship's  cutter  had 
sailed  through  the  jungle  with  a  fair  wind.  There  was 
a  little  bright  blood  here  and  there  upon  the  grass ;  but 
so  little  that  I  knew  that  his  wounds  were  bleeding  in- 
ternally. 

I  went  after  him  pretty  quickly  along  this  track 
which  he  had  cut  for  me.  I  had  no  reason  to  fear 
anything.  The  Indians  of  that  part  of  Campeachy 
were  not  friendly  to  us,  having  been  bribed  by  the 
Spaniards  to  check  our  settling  there.  Still  there  were, 
as  I  thought,  no  Indians  anywhere  within  ten  miles  of 
me.  Not  that  I  could  be  sure  of  it.  The  forest  there- 
abouts was  very  dense,  and  I  knew  only  what  the  log- 


150  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

wood  cutters  liad  learned  by  hearing  and  rumour  during 
their  stay  in  the  lagoon.  I  was  surprised,  though,  when 
I  saw  what  I  saw  that  morning. 

For,  after  a  couple  of  miles  of  tracking,  I  came  upon 
a  clearing  in  the  forest.  I  suppose  it  was  about  a  hun- 
dred yards  across  altogether.  In  it  was  an  Indian  vil- 
lage of  a  kind  "which  was  new  to  me.  I  had  seen  plenty 
of  Indian  villages  during  my  stay  in  the  Indies.  They 
are  of  the  poorest  kind  of  building.  You  can  see  the 
buck  Indians  make  them  for  themselves  at  the  end  of 
a  day's  march.  A  dozen  chops  with  a  hatchet  will 
given  them  enough  bamboos  for  the  frame.  All  the 
rest  of  the  building  is  a  laying  on  of  those  broad  palm- 
leaves  for  thatch.  I  have  seen  a  few  tribes  make  them 
with  greater  care  than  others ;  but  even  with  the  best  of 
them  the  huts  are  shacks  and  hovels.  A  gipsy's  hut  on  a 
common  is  a  palace  to  them.  JSTow  the  huts  in  this  par- 
ticular village  were  not  like  that  at  all.  They  were 
built  of  adobe  brick,  and  tiled  with  what  looked  like 
terra  cotta.  They  were  ranged  in  a  neat  little  street, 
down  which  ran  a  brook.  The  gardens  and  plantations 
were  small,  but  neatly  kept.  They  had  not  much  in 
them  except  plantains,  but  I  noticed  that  some  of  them 
had  tobacco  growing. 

I  came  upon  this  place  quite  suddenly.  I  had  not 
suspected  it,  nor  was  I  prepared  for  it.  But  coming  on 
it,  I  took  it  in  at  a  glance,  as  a  man  in  the  forest  learns 
to  do.  The  bull  was  down  on  his  knees  in  the  middle 
of  a  tobacco  patch,  coughing  himself  dead.  I  realised 
that  I  was  in  a  strange  situation,  among  a  people  new 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  151 

to  me.  What  sort  of  a  reception  they  might  give  me 
I  could  not  guess;  but,  since  my  prey  had  destroyed 
a  part  of  their  crops,  they  were  not  likely  to  be  loving 
to  me. 

They  appeared  soon  enough,  as  you  may  suppose. 
There  were  about  twenty  of  them,  all  of  them  a  little 
paler  than  the  Indians  proper,  but  of  Indian  type. 
They  came  up  and  stared  at  me,  muttering  to  each  other. 
I  raised  my  head  in  the  way  the  padres  do  when  they 
give  a  blessing.  I  did  this  because  they  looked  clean 
enough  to  be  Christian  Indians.  But  they  knew  neither 
the  sign  nor  what  I  said  to  them  in  Spanish.  They 
just  gave  back  a  little  when  I  raised  my  hand.  Per- 
haps they  thought  that  I  was  going  to  fling  a  stone  at 
them.  Then  they  stared  at  me  and  muttered  to  each 
other.  I  stared  back,  but  all  the  time  I  was  squinting 
out  of  the  comers  of  my  eyes  lest  one  of  these  quiet- 
looking  men  should  be  creeping  round  to  get  behind 
me.  I  had  the  feeling  that  there  was  a  man  behind 
me  all  the  time ;  but,  as  it  is  never  well  to  show  nervous- 
ness before  these  people,  I  did  not  turn  my  head.  In- 
stead of  that  I  cocked  my  gun  under  my  arm  and 
pointed  to  the  bull,  which  had  just  died.  I  smiled  and 
signalled  to  them  that  it  was  at  their  service,  speak- 
ing in  Mosquito.  They  seemed  to  recognise  some  words 
of  what  I  said,  for  they  repeated  them  to  me  as  though 
asking  questions.  I  did  not  know  what  they  said,  for 
they  were  not  Mosquitos,  nor  of  that  stock  apparently. 

I  tried  those  mutterers  with  a  few  words  of  Chetu- 
mal  (the  only  words  knov\m  to  me  in  the  dialect),  but 


152  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

thej  did  not  understand.  Then  I  took  out  a  Spanish 
piece  of  eight  and  offered  it  to  one  of  them.  He  smelt 
it,  looked  at  the  stamp,  handed  it  to  the  others,  who 
either  smelt  it  or  bit  it,  and  then  handed  it  back  to 
me,  not  knowing  what  to  make  of  it.  I  began  to  get 
uneasy  about  those  Indians  after  that.  They  did  not 
look  pleasant.  They  did  not  welcome  me  with  the 
warm  courtesy  to  which  I  had  been  accustomed  among 
the  Indians  on  the  isthmus  and  at  Blewfields.  They 
stood  still,  looking  at  me  rather  pointedly,  and  mutter- 
ing to  themselves,  without  shifting  their  eyes.  At  last 
one  of  them,  sitting  down  on  the  ground  with  a  curious 
shrinking  of  his  body,  which  made  me  think  that  he 
would  sink  under  the  earth,  began  to  play  knucklebones 
by  himself  with  great  skill.  It  seemed  a  mad  sort  of 
thing  to  do,  and  I  did  not  like  it,  because  I  knew 
enough  of  the  Indians  to  know  that  when  they  begin  to 
do  something  which  we  think  mad,  they  do  something 
peculiarly  Indian;  and  what  is  peculiarly  Indian  is 
often  very  horrible  to  us  whites.  I  watched  him  play- 
ing. Indeed,  I  could  not  help  myself,  his  pale  hands 
were  so  apt  and  nimble,  and  the  white  and  red  of  the 
bones  —  yes,  some  of  the  bones  were  red ;  the  Indians 
dye  bone  and  ivory  with  a  kind  of  logwood  which  grows 
in  fresh-water  swamps  —  seemed  to  me  to  make  a  sort 
of  pattern,  which  kept  suggesting  all  sorts  of  things, 
strange  things,  things  like  the  symbols  in  the  book. 
Then  something  was  suggested  to  me,  something  came 
into  my  mind.  There  came  to  me  something  like  a 
word  spoken  inside  my  brain,  something  which  you, 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  153 

perhaps,  would  call  an  intuition  or  some  other  absurd 
name,  such  as  the  English  delight  to  make  for  things 
which  they  do  not  understand.  The  word  said  to  me 
that  the  man  was  playing  knucklebones  to  keep  my  at- 
tention fixed  so  that  I  should  not  look  behind  me.  At 
the  same  instant  I  felt  a  cold  gush  of  fear  going  over 
me,  as  one  feels  sometimes  when,  on  looking  back  in 
the  dark  in  a  quiet  alley,  one  sees  or  suspects  some  one 
whose  footsteps  one  has  not  heard  approaching.  I 
turned  round  slowly  on  my  heel,  taking  care  to  show 
no  trace  of  anxiety.  And  there  behind  me  was  some 
one,  a  strange  some  one,  right  in  my  tracks  only  six 
feet  away.  How  he  had  come  so  near  without  my  sens- 
ing him  I  cannot  think ;  but  the  Indians  are  a  strange 
people.  We  do  many  things  with  many  sides  of  our 
natures.  They  do  a  few  things  with  their  whole 
strength.  Perhaps  that  is  why  they  can  do  things 
which  we  can  never  do. 


IX 

The  person  who  fronted  me  when  I  turned  was 
dressed  in  one  of  those  long  black  Indian  print  gowns, 
something  like  a  soutane,  something  like  an  English 
labourer's  smock,  but  all  worked  over  with  overlapping 
fringes  of  feathers,  so  that  the  wearer  looks  like  a 
great  blackbird.  This  one  looked  all  the  liker  a  bird, 
because  his  arms  were  folded  on  his  breast,  and  so 
deeply  buried  in  feathers  that  the  hands  could  not  be 


154  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

seen  at  all.  I  would  have  been  glad  to  know  what  he 
held  in  those  hidden  hands;  but  with  my  gun  ready 
in  my  hand  I  felt  pretty  much  at  ease  on  that  score. 
After  the  first  startled  moment,  during  which  I  came 
near  to  shooting  him,  we  stood  staring  at  each  other 
without  speaking.  I  took  a  keen  stock  of  him,  and 
though  I  often  saw  him  afterwards  my  first  impression 
of  him  never  changed.  I  never  got  over  it,  though 
very  likely  it  was  wrong.  I  felt  as  I  looked  at  him 
that  he  was  not  quite  a  human  thing,  but  something 
different  and  more  dangerous.  He  was  a  good  deal 
paler  than  any  Indian,  but  he  was  of  Indian  type,  all 
except  the  mouth,  which  smiled  at  me  continually, 
showing  the  teeth.  It  was  the  smile  which  awed  me. 
I  felt  it  to  be  something  which  masked  the  inner  man. 
It  was  a  pleasant  smile  enough,  but  as  it  gave  me  that 
impression  of  the  mask  it  was  sinister  to  me.  The 
Indians  on  that  coast  never  smile;  perhaps  it  was  the 
strangeness  which  made  it  so  horrid.  I  cannot  say. 
There  it  is.  There  was  this  about  the  creature's  bear- 
ing. It  made  me  feel  that  very  much  depended  upon 
how  I  comported  myself  before  him. 

I  had  another  intuition  at  that  moment.  Some- 
thing outside  myself  (it  was  not  my  own.  will  at  all) 
thrust  my  hand  into  my  pocket,  and  made  me  draw 
out  a  paper  on  which  I  had  printed  a  copy  of  a  sym- 
bol, the  outline  of  a  bird  of  prey,  with  which  O'Neill 
often  began  his  chapters  of  picture  writing.  I  flattened 
it  out  and  held  it  out  to  him,  so  that  he  might  see  it. 
He  looked  at  it  and  bowed  to  it,  evidently  recognis- 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  155 

ing  it,  and  then  shuffled  with  his  hands  very  quickly 
among  his  feathers.  I  suppose  that  he  was  hiding  his 
knife,  now  that  he  knew  me  to  be  a  friend.  He  ad- 
vanced a  step,  bowing  and  smiling.  He  pointed  to  one 
of  the  houses  near  by,  and  made  as  though  to  conduct 
me  thither. 

"  Good,"  I  said  to  myself.  "  I  am  not  to  be  killed 
at  any  rate." 

I  nodded,  and  signed  to  him  to  lead  on  and  that  I 
would  follow.  The  Indian  led  me  into  one  of  the 
houses,  and  offered  me  a  mess  of  bananas  and  corn- 
pone,  beaten  up  with  the  juice  of  limes.  He  talked  to 
me  garrulously  in  a  dialect  which  I  did  not  know.  I 
noticed  that  he  did  not  press  food  upon  me  in  the  true 
Indian  way,  which  presupposes  that  a  g-uest  has  not 
eaten  for  a  week.  I  gathered  from  that  (what  I  had 
in  fact  already  gathered  from  their  houses  and  from 
the  quiet  manner  in  which  they  had  taken  the  arrival 
of  a  whole  dead  bull  in  their  village)  that  these  In- 
dians did  not  live  from  hand  to  mouth  as  so  many  for- 
est Indians  do,  but  that  they  were  partly  civilised,  with 
crops  and  perhaps  live  stock  of  their  own. 

After  I  had  eaten,  this  strange  Indian  showed  me, 
half  grudgingly  half  expectantly,  two  or  three  other 
symbols  carven  in  wood,  or  cut  in  pottery  or  painted 
upon  a  sort  of  brovni  cloth  of  a  rather  coarse  but  close 
texture,  like  a  common  holland.  I  recognised  several 
of  the  symbols  in  O'lSTeill's  books,  but  what  they  signi- 
fied was  double  Dutch  to  me.  I  think  from  what  hap- 
pened afterwards  that  he  confused  me  in  some  way  with 


156  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

O'lSTeill,  or  took  me  to  be  the  same  kind  of  man.  I 
nodded  as  though  I  understood  them,  and  drew  others 
with  my  finger  upon  the  dried  and  dusty  mud  of  the 
floor.  He  seemed  impressed  by  my  knowledge.  He 
stood  up  with  some  ceremonial  gesture  like  the  saying 
of  grace,  and  beckoned  me  to  follow  him  out  into  the 
wood. 

At  a  little  distance  upstream  from  the  village  there 
was  a  low  stone  wall,  evidently  very  old.  In  Spain  and 
France  I  have  seen  Roman  walls  not  unlike  it.  But 
this,  unlike  a  Roman  wall,  was  grotesquely  carved,  by 
some  one  with  a  rude  and  barbarous  power,  along  its 
upper  course  of  well-hewn,  well-fitted  stones.  I  do  not 
know  any  carving  which  is  quite  like  it,  though  some  to 
whom  I  have  described  it  have  told  me  that  it  must 
be  like  Egyptian  work.  The  carving  was  all  symbolic 
and  hieroglyphic.  My  guide  pointed  out  several  of  the 
symbols  known  to  me,  and  led  me  through  a  gap  into 
what  must  once  have  been  the  courtyard  of  a  great 
temple.  It  was  a  great  smooth  field  of  a  place,  over 
which  the  Indians  had  been  busy  ever  since  the  last 
priest  was  there.  It  was  all  laid  out  now  in  tobacco 
and  plantains  in  neat  little  weedless  gardens.  In  the 
middle  of  the  field  (which  I  suppose  was  three  hundred 
yards  across)  was  the  temple,  picked  so  clear  of  creep- 
ers by  the  superstitious  Indians  that  at  first  glance  it 
did  not  look  like  a  ruin.  It  was  a  ruin,  but  a  very 
splendid  one.  It  was  carved  all  over  its  outer  face  with 
what  seemed  to  be  a  writhing,  continuous  history.  In 
places,  where  the  rains  had  not  been  at  work,  some  of 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  157 

the  original  colour  was  still  upon  the  carving  to  give 
the  barbaric  vigour  of  the  design  (as  it  seemed)  a  life 
and  inner  meaning. 

The  man  took  me  to  the  door  of  this  great  temple. 
It  was  so  richly  carved  that  it  was  as  if  the  stone  had 
bloomed  suddenly  like  a  strange  plant.  And  do  you 
know  what  was  the  first  thing  that  I  noticed  there  on  a 
clear  space  upon  the  door's  lintel  ?  I  saw  a  name  idly 
scratched  with  a  knife  point, — 

L.  O'Neill.     Ship  Wanderer. 

My  unknown  friend  had  been  there  also.  I  bowed 
my  head,  as  though  I  had  just  met  him  face  to  face. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  he  must  be  there,  in  the  place 
where  his  wits  had  been  so  busy.  I  went  into  the 
temple,  half  expecting  to  hear  him  hail  me. 

The  temple  roof  was  gone,  but  the  floor  had  been 
kept  clear  of  weeds,  and  a  neat  thatch  had  been  worked 
over  the  altar.  An  old  Indian  was  praying  before  the 
altar,  in  a  sort  of  trance  of  prayer ;  but  at  first  I  did  not 
notice  him.  I  saw  only  the  exceeding  wonder  of  the 
walls,  which  blazed  in  many  colours.  There  was  colour 
everywhere,  either  worked  upon  cloth  or  painted  on 
the  stone.  The  whole  inner  part  of  the  building  had 
been  glorified,  till  it  was  like  a  jewel  of  many  precious 
stones,  with  the  hieroglyphics  and  many-coloured  sacred 
histories.  When  I  entered,  the  old  Indian  rose  from  his 
place  by  the  altar  and  advanced  slowly  towards  me,  as 
though  he  had  been  expecting  me. 

"  Bueno,"  he  said,  speaking  Spanish,  as  though  he 


158  LOST  EN'DEAVOUR 

had  not  spoken  it  for  years.     "  Bueno.     Que  tal.     Soy 
Nicolai." 

He  looked  into  my  face  for  a  long  time,  and  then 
made  me  sit  before  the  altar,  while  the  other  man, 
heaping  gums  upon  the  altar  brazier,  made  incense. 
When  he  spoke  again,  it  was  to  say  that  he  had  waited 
a  long-time  for  my  coming,  a  long,  long  time,  so  long 
that  he  had  feared  that  he  might  die  before  I  came.  He 
told  me  strange  things  there  in  the  gloom  made  by  the 
incense.  Strange  things.  Do  you  know  what  he  told 
me? 


He  told  me  that  the  temple  in  which  I  stood  had 
once  been  the  chief  temple  of  the  capital  of  that  land. 
The  city  surrounding  it  had  long  since  been  covered  by 
the  forest,  but  he  added  that  there  were  many  vast  re- 
mains to  be  seen  by  a  little  vigorous  cutting.  Those 
remains,  and  the  village  seen  by  me,  were  all  that  was 
left  of  so  mighty  a  capital.  As  for  the  temple,  he  said, 
it  was  a  temple  to  the  ancient  gods.  Their  worship 
had  once  been  everywhere  in  the  land,  "  as  of  course  I 
knew"  (I  knew  nothing  of  the  kind),  but  that  it  had 
begun  to  die  out  even  before  the  Spaniards  came;  and 
since  then  it  had  dwindled  away  almost  to  nothing. 

This,  of  course,  was  all  archseology.  What  was 
strange  came  afterwards.  He  said,  that  a  year  or  two 
before,  a  word  had  gone  forth  among  the  Indians 
throughout  Mexico.     A  sort  of  prophet  named  Xucal, 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  169 

an  Indian  of  course,  had  prophesied  that  the  old  gods 
were  coming  back,  and  that  the  Spaniards  would  be 
driven  out,  and  that  the  ancient  kings  should  rule  again 
where  their  fathers  had  ruled.  The  prophecy  said  that 
this  would  not  happen  all  at  once.  But  that  first  a 
white  man  would  come  as  a  messenger  from  the  kings, 
to  find  out  whether  the  hearts  of  the  Indians  still  re- 
membered the  old  rule.  This  white  man  would  go  about 
to  all  the  places  where  the  old  faith  had  once  been 
powerful.  He  would  find  out  what  relics  of  the  race 
still  lived,  and  whether  they  longed  for  their  old  rulers, 
who  now  were  resting  in  some  heaven  (as  far  as  I  could 
make  out)  till  he  should  make  his  report  to  them. 
After  the  disappearance  of  this  white  man  (so  the 
prophecy  ran )  a  youth  would  appear  at  the  great  temple, 
and  give  the  high  priest  a  sign.  This  youth,  I  gath- 
ered, would  be  the  great  king,  come  back  to  rule  his 
people,  but  (this  struck  me  as  being  a  very  cunning 
stroke  of  the  priest's),  following  the  royal  laws,  it  would 
be  necessary  for  him  to  perfect  himself  in  the  sacred 
mysteries  under  the  priest's  tuition  before  he  could 
rule. 

Now  perhaps  Nicolai  really  believed  me  to  be  this 
youth ;  perhaps  he  thought  that  he  might  make  use  of 
my  coming  there,  so  soon  after  O'Neill's  coming,  to 
pretend  it,  for  his  own  ends.  At  any  rate,  when  he 
told  me  this,  he  suddenly  acted  as  though  I  were  a  super- 
natural being.  So  did  the  other  Indian,  and  so  (later 
on)  did  all  the  other  Indians  in  the  village. 

My  first  impulse  was  to  tell  them  not  to  be  so  fool- 


160  LOST  ENDEAVOTJK 

ish ;  but  a  little  thought  came  into  my  head.  I  asked 
myself  why  I  should  not  be  this  king.  It  was  such  an 
opportunity  as  no  man  in  the  world  has  ever  had. 
Suppose  (I  said),  suppose  I  take  advantage  of  this 
prophecy,  and  play  into  old  Nicolai's  hands,  and  learn 
these  mysteries,  and  turn  the  superstitions  to  use? 
Suppose  I  become  this  king  in  very  truth,  and  call  up 
the  Indians,  and  make  a  nation  where  now  there  are 
tribes  and  Spanish  tax  collectors?  With  the  Indians 
united,  the  veriest  dunce  at  war  could  drive  the  Span- 
iards out  of  the  country.  Why  should  I  not  unite 
them  and  do  so?  This  thought  flushed  me  and  capti- 
vated me.  I  do  not  think  that  anybody  could  take  (un- 
moved) the  prospect  of  being  (at  the  one  time)  a  sort 
of  god,  a  king  over  millions  of  men,  and  the  conqueror  of 
Spain.  I  was  moved  strongly ;  and,  like  all  other  men 
under  strong  emotion,  I  did  not  take  heed.  I  did  not 
think  of  the  possible  drawbacks  to  this  scheme.  I 
saw  only  myself  an  emperor,  and  the  Spanish  empire 
tumbled  into  Vera  Cruz  harbour.  So,  perhaps  wrongly, 
I  assumed  a  royal  port,  and  allowed  old  Nicolai  to  pro- 
claim me  as  the  expected  sacred  youth. 

I  regretted  it  afterwards,  for  the  learning  of  the 
mysteries  is  very  terrible,  for  it  begins  with  fasting 
and  maceration  of  a  very  severe  kind.  After  the  body 
has  been  subdued,  the  novice  learns  other  things ;  secret 
things,  of  which  I  will  say  this,  that  they  are  really 
wonderful,  and  that  the  Church  in  Europe  knew  of 
them,  and  condemned  them  long  ago  as  magic.  The 
mysteries  were  not  all  of  the  magical  kind.     As  I  be- 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  161 

came  more  perfect,  and  learned  to  read  the  hieroglyphs 
on  the  temple  walls  and  in  O'Neill's  books,  I  found  that 
there  was  a  higher  ritual,  of  the  spirit  of  which  O'Neill, 
by  the  way,  was  entirely  ignorant. 

"  Please,"  you  say,  interrupting.  "  Is  there  really 
any  truth  in  magic  ?  " 

"  Magic  ?  "  I  answer.  "  Truth  ?  A  measure  of  it 
—  yes.  It  is  as  true  as  pagan  religion,  and  no  truer. 
I  sometimes  think  that  it  is  a  trick  of  the  imagination ; 
and  at  other  times  that  it  is  more  than  that,  but  not 
much  more.  It  is  mostly  a  matter  of  secret  rites  and 
incantations,  demanding,  like  other  religious  practice, 
a  sincere  faith.  In  all  such  arts  much  depends  on  lit- 
tle details  and  significances  of  colour  and  form  and  at- 
titude. Some  of  the  results  are  —  you  would  not  be- 
lieve. You  could  not  without  knowing.  But  I  tell 
you  that  if  I  had  here  certain  precious  colours,  and 
some  rare  gums,  and  a  sacred  metal,  I  would  bring  be- 
fore you  visibly  in  this  ship's  cabin  —  There  —  I  can- 
not tell  you  what,  but  something  wonderful  in  mystical 
shape  and  beauty.  Often  there,  at  dusk  in  the  temple, 
when  the  fireflies  began  to  spangle,  old  Nicolai  and  I 
would  light  the  gums  and  arrange  the  colours  and  dis- 
play the  metal,  murmuring  and  singing  strange  words, 
terrible  in  themselves,  till  the  night  became  to  me  or 
seemed  to  become  a  court,  a  palace,  a  hall,  filled  with 
immortals  muttering  wisdom. 

But  it  was  not  enough  that  I  should  learn  these  se- 
crets, wonderful  as  they  were,  for  they  were  known  to 
others  besides  ourselves.     Scattered  about  Mexico  there 


162  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

are  still  some  of  the  lesser  priests  who  know  these 
things;  but  they,  in  themselves,  are  but  the  grammar 
and  dictionary  to  the  higher  knowledge.  The  higher 
knowledge  I  gathered  was  preserved  at  a  college  of 
priests  on  an  island  in  the  sea. 

JSTicolai  told  me  that  O'Neill,  who  had  studied  so 
deeply  in  all  Indian  lore,  had  heard  of  this  island  from 
the  tribes  near  Ascension  Bay,  and  had  been  eager  to 
visit  it,  to  get  transcripts  from  the  symbols  in  the 
temple,  but  could  by  no  means  learn  of  its  whereabouts. 
The  Indians  refused  to  betray  it.  It  was  holy  ground 
to  them.  As  JSTicolai  believed  O'Neill  to  be  the  heav- 
enly messenger,  he  gave  him  the  bearings  of  this  island. 
I  need  only  say  now  that  it  is  one  of  the  islands  in  the 
Gulf  of  Honduras ;  one  of  the  Bay  Islands,  as  the  sail- 
ors had  told  me.  O'Neill,  on  some  pretext,  I  fancy  on 
the  ground  that  the  island  might  contain  logwood, 
caused  his  captain  to  go  to  the  island.  When  there  he 
found  and  entered  the  temple,  talked  with  the  priests 
there,  copied  many  of  the  symbols,  without  in  the  least 
understanding  their  mystical  uses,  and  left  rough  rec- 
ords of  them  on  the  cotton  roll  which  had  come  so 
strangely  into  my  hands.  O'Neill  took  up  Indian 
studies  as  another  sailor  might  take  to  carving,  or  play- 
ing on  the  flute.  His  business  was  to  learn.  He  had 
nothing  to  do  with  understanding.  He  delighted  only 
in  facts.  It  was  very  curious.  His  knowledge  of  facts 
helped  most  strangely  to  give  me  a  knowledge  of  the 
spirit  underlying  them. 

I  told  Nicolai  that  I  knew  where  the  island  lay,  and 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STOEY  163 

that  I  would  go  there  to  study,  I  think  that  I  meant 
what  I  said,  but  by  this  time  I  was  getting  very  weary 
of  the  project.  I  was  tired  of  these  endless,  rather 
savage,  ceremonials,  unbecoming  in  a  civilised  man ; 
and  then  I  had  the  feeling  that  Nicolai  and  his  friend 
were  going  to  use  me  for  some  scheme  of  their  own. 
I  think  that  I  would  have  given  it  all  up,  and  gone  back 
to  logwood  cutting,  if  I  had  not  begun  to  take  an  in- 
tellectual interest  in  the  occult.  I  put  it  like  that,  but 
really  it  was  more  than  that. 


XI 

One  night  I  realised  suddenly,  as  though  a  sunbeam 
had  shattered  within  my  brain,  that  all  visible  nature, 
colour,  odour,  and  form  is  but  the  shadow  of  immortal 
nature ;  and  that  that  immortal  nature  is  but  the  shadow 
of  a  higher  spirit,  and  that  perhaps  at  the  college  on  the 
island  I  should  learn  how  to  use  immortal  nature  magic- 
ally, to  learn  of  the  spirit  which  it  hid,  as  now  I  used 
colour,  odour,  and  form  magically  to  learn  of  it.  There 
were  wheels  within  wheels,  magic  within  magic,  wonder 
within  wonder.  And  when  I  realised  it,  it  was  in  my 
brain  like  fire. 

After  that  began  one  of  the  strangest  of  all  the  strange 
things  which  happened  to  me.  I  was  taken  to  the  island 
like  a  true  Son  of  the  Sun.  I  was  borne  on  men's 
shoulders  in  a  litter,  rowed  by  boatmen  in  a  barge,  and 
fanned  by  slaves,  and  fed  by  Nicolai  the  priest.     "We 


164  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

went  in  a  great  canoe  up  a  mighty  river,  and  as  we 
voyaged  they  sang  hymns  to  me.  While  they  sang  I 
lay  at  my  ease  among  pillows,  looking  out  at  the  water, 
and  at  foolish  Indians  who  beat  their  heads  on  the 
ground  as  we  passed.  That  journey  (as  perhaps  Nico- 
lai  had  intended)  gave  me  a  sense  of  what  I  might  bring 
to  pass  among  these  people.  I  was  accepted  everywhere 
as  the  great  king  come  back.  I  had  heralds,  who  went 
ahead  to  prepare  camps  for  me.  I  was  treated  like  a 
god  —  I  who  had  been  a  Jamaica  slave.  And  always 
at  my  elbow  was  old,  obsequious  Nicolai,  smiling  and 
bowing  and  telling  me  what  to  do.  One  thing  fright- 
ened me.  All  those  Indians,  out  there  in  the  wilds, 
two  or  three  hundred  miles  from  any  Spaniard,  had 
heard  of  me,  and  expected  me,  and  made  no  doubt  that 
I  was  the  genuine  king.  Their  faith  and  their  or- 
ganisation frightened  me.  How  came  it  a  forest  tribe 
miles  away  in  that  ghostly  temple  of  jungle  should  have 
heard  what  no  Spaniard  (as  I  am  quite  sure)  had  ever 
suspected  ? 

It  was  a  wonderful  journey,  such  as  no  white  man 
has  ever  done.  It  came  to  an  end,  three  weeks  later 
and  five  hundred  miles  away,  on  the  low  land  of  Sula, 
fronting  the  island.  I  was  carried  to  a  great  canoe, 
manned  by  youths.  They  shoved  off  from  the  land, 
and  burst  out  singing  a  melancholy  whooping  hymn, 
which  they  kept  up  for  all  the  thirty  miles  from  the 
mainland  to  the  island.  It  was  all  about  the  Sun  (that 
was  myself)  setting,  in  order  to  rise  again  more  glori- 
ously.    They  let  me  wade  ashore  in.  that  very  northern 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  165 

lagoon  of  O'lSTeill's  map.  Having  watched  me  land 
they  hastily  put  back  again ;  while  old  Nicolai,  not  holy 
enough  to  touch  the  earth  of  that  island,  gave  me  his 
blessing  from  the  stern-sheets. 

I  had  been  made  to  realise  that  the  island  was  all  of 
it  sacred,  like  the  very  dwelling-place  of  the  gods,  and 
that  the  act  of  wading  to  it  signified  that  even  I  had 
to  approach  it  humbly.  On  landing,  I  thought  it 
strange  that  no  one  was  there.  I  made  up  my  mind 
that  this  must  be  a  part  of  the  initiation  niystery;  so, 
after  looking  about,  I  raised  my  hand  to  the  boat's  crew, 
and  watched  the  boat  pass  from  the  lagoon  and  out  of 
sight.  I  felt  some  qualms  when  I  saw  the  last  of  them. 
I  began  to  realise  that  I  had  a  hard  task  before  me, 
and  that  now  I  had  no  Nicolai  to  prompt  me.  I  was 
dressed  in  a  queer  sort  of  priest's  dress.  'No  doubt  it 
was  of  the  kind  worn  by  the  old  kings,  and  very  proper 
for  a  king  upon  his  throne.  But  to  me  in  a  tropical 
island  it  was  very  uncomfortable. 

I  stood  still  for  a  full  twenty  minutes  on  the  beach, 
wondering  when  the  "  savage  guards  "  mentioned  by 
O'JSTeill  would  come  to  escort  me  to  the  priests.  No- 
body came.  The  island  seemed  empty  of  human  be- 
ings ;  and  yet,  for  all  that  I  knew,  all  the  scrub  might 
be  filled  with  watchers,  anxious  to  see  whether  I  acted 
like  a  true  Son  of  Heaven.  Indians  like  a  man  to  be 
leisurely  in  all  ceremonial  matters.  It  would  not  do 
(I  said  to  myself)  to  act  rashly  and  unbecomingly.  I 
waited  on  a  little  longer,  and  then  stepped  across  the 
sandy  beach. 


166  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

O'lSTeill  had  marked  "  houses  "  near  the  beach,  but 
none  were  there  now.  The  scrub  rose  up  dense  and 
tangled  like  a  wall  across  my  path.  I  was  not  alarmed 
upon  that  account.  If  you  have  ever  lived  in  the 
tropics,  you  will  know  how  swiftly  the  stuff  will  grow 
over  ground  once  cleared.  There  are  plants  and  shrubs 
which  will  grow  a  foot  in  a  night.  Three  days  will 
cover  the  site  of  a  hut.  A  month  will  make  the  site 
like  virgin  forest.  I  said  to  myself  that  all  the  houses 
had  been  destroyed,  so  that  I  might  find  the  temple 
by  my  own  efforts.  Before  setting  out  upon  that  quest 
I  made  a  discovery.  I  found  a  ruined  boat-house 
among  the  jungle.  I  saw  the  end  of  a  hewn  bamboo, 
and  guessed  that  it  was  part  of  a  building.  The 
plants  had  ruined  both  the  building  and  the  canoe 
within.  They  had  spread  along  the  crevices,  lifting  the 
roof  from  the  rafters  and  the  planks  from  the  ribs,  till 
all  was  split  and  rotten.  How  long  ago  it  had  been 
ruined  I  could  not  tell ;  possibly  for  only  a  few  weeks. 
As  I  was  turning  away  from  this  house  I  met  with  a 
shock.  A  skeleton  sat  just  within  the  door,  propped 
against  the  door-post.  It  was  the  skeleton  of  an  In- 
dian, with  a  curiously  flattened  skull.  His  hand  still 
held  a  lance  with  a  flint  head.  He  was  the  guardian 
of  the  boat-house,  dead  at  his  post. 

I  wondered  how  he  died.  There  was  no  apparent 
cause  of  death.  By  his  posture  one  would  have  said 
that  death  came  easily  to  him.  How  he  died  was  one 
of  time's  secrets,  never  to  be  discovered.  I  remember 
being  touched  at  the  thought  that  both  the  barge  and 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  167 

the  house  had  fallen  into  ruin  with  him;  so  that,  as 
the  Indians  believe,  he  might  have  them  by  him  in  the 
spirit  land.  I  was  not  frightened  at  finding  this  skele- 
ton, but  it  gave  me  an  awe.  It  gave  me,  in  a  way, 
courage  to  comport  myself  there  like  a  man,  and  to  take 
up  (what  I  had  thought  of  laying  down)  a  great  des- 
tiny prepared  for  me.  I  waited  a  little  longer  on  the 
beach,  hoping  that  a  guide  would  appear.  Then,  find- 
ing that  it  rested  with  myself  to  reach  the  temple,  I 
braced  myself  for  an  effort. 

And  then  began  what  proved  to  be  very  difficult  in- 
deed: the  search  for  the  sacred  college  where  so  much 
wisdom  lay  hidden.  It  was  somewhere  in  that  island, 
but  how  was  I  to  know  where  ?  The  island  is  an  irregu- 
lar cone,  sloping  up,  not  very  gently,  to  the  hill-top  which 
O'lSTeill  called  Sombrero  Hill,  because  it  is  like  one  of 
those  Don's  peaked  hats.  I  suppose  that  the  whole 
island  is  four  miles  long,  and  about  half  as  broad.  In 
that  compass  is  contained  nearly  every  variety  of  land- 
scape, from  impassable  cliff  to  impassable  swamp. 
There  are  no  roads  nor  native  tracks  into  the  interior 
from  the  coast.  It  is  just  a  tangle  of  forest,  often  ex- 
tremely dense,  and  so  full  of  poison  ivy  and  man- 
chineels  that  a  man  must  be  careful  how  he  cuts  his 
way  there  lest  the  juices  poison  his  face  and  hands.  I 
remember  standing  on  the  beach  of  the  lagoon,  and 
staring  ahead  into  the  thicket,  wondering  where  the 
sacred  college  could  be.  It  was  "  hard  to  find,"  so 
O'Neill  had  written,  nor  could  I  "  fetch  it  direct."  But 
I  knew  from  what  he  had  said  in  his  rhyme  that  it  lay 


168  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

high  up  on  the  hill.  What  he  meant  by  the  Koncadores 
and  the  Key  1  could  not  imagine;  for  Roncadores, 
which  means  "  Snorers,"  is  a  name  given  pretty  often 
by  the  Spanish  seamen  to  reefs  over  which  the  surf 
breaks  loudly.  None  of  the  myriad  outlying  reefs 
thereabouts  was  marked  Roncadores  on  the  chart,  nor 
was  there  any  sign  to  tell  me  which  of  the  many  sandy 
keys  scattered  about  in  the  sea  all  round  the  island 
was  the  key  the  spur  of  which  gave  the  bearing.  You 
may  think  that  it  would  be  an  easy  thing  to  find  a  house 
in  an  island  so  small.  But  put  yourself  in  the  rough- 
est landscape  known  to  you,  and  imagine  yourself  seek- 
ing, at  a  pretty  blind  random,  for  something  of  which 
you  did  not  in  the  least  know  the  outward  appearance. 
You  will  realise  then  what  kind  of  a  search  I  had  to 
make.  When  I  came  to  look  into  the  matter,  I  tell  you 
that  the  difficulty,  which  at  some  times  did  not  exist 
for  me,  sometimes  daunted  me.  Still,  there  it  was. 
Standing  there  in  the  island  at  whatever  point  I  cared 
to  land,  I  was  within  three  or  four  miles  of  one  of  the 
strangest  places  in  the  world. 

I  started  then  to  look  for  the  temple  after  working 
out  a  theory  in  my  mind.  I  knew  that  as  the  bearings 
given  were  just  less  than  one  point  to  the  east  and  west 
of  north,  the  temple  must  lie  on  the  north  of  the  hill, 
fronting  that  northern  side  of  the  island.  All  that  I 
had  to  do  was  to  get  well  up  on  to  the  hill  on  the  north 
side,  and  work  out  the  bearings  of  the  reefs  and  keys 
till  I  found  a  reef  and  a  key  the  bearings  of  which 
fitted  the  instructions  on  the  chart.     I  should  then  have 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  169 

to  draw  an  imaginary  line  from  each  point  to  the  hill, 
and  search  at  the  apex,  or  junction,  of  the  lines,  either 
up  or  down  hill,  till  I  found  what  I  sought.  I  was 
filled  with  the  notion  that  the  temple  would  be  a  noble 
thing ;  in  fine  hewn  stone  like  the  temple  in  Campeachy. 
I  did  not  expect  to  have  much  trouble  in  finding  it  if  I 
could  only  get  to  the  ground. 

I  had  noticed  when  we  sailed  in  to  the  anchorage  that 
the  hill  had  bald  patches  here  and  there,  high  up.  I 
suspected  that  the  temple  lay  in  one  of  these,  in  a  lev- 
elled clearing,  shut  in  by  a  grove  of  sacred  trees.  I  had 
a  copy  of  O'iN^eill's  map,  a  pocket  compass,  and  a  good 
machete  with  me,  in  spite  of  my  kingship,  and  with 
these  I  felt  confident.  I  braced  myself,  and  struck  out 
manfully  into  the  darkness  of  the  forest.  My  plan  was 
to  push  along  the  northern  sea-coast  till  I  felt  myself 
to  be  abreast  of  the  central  part  of  the  mountain.  Then 
I  meant  to  strike  inland  and  to  climb  some  tree,  so  that 
I  could  get  a  view  of  the  hill,  and  if  possible  (if  I 
were  very  lucky)  of  the  temple  as  well.  I  did  not  ex- 
pect to  get  to  the  temple  till  the  afternoon.  I  was  not 
sure  of  getting  there  that  day,  but  that  I  should  find  it 
within  twenty-four  hours  I  was  convinced.  I  did  not 
know  then  that  one  who  seeks  for  great  things  must 
prove  his  fitness  for  them  by  his  endurance  of  difficult 
things. 

I  entered  the  wood  as  carefully  as  an  Indian,  step- 
ping lightly,  and  covering  my  tracks,  as  one  learns  to 
do  when  one  lives  in  the  wilds.  When  I  was  well  in- 
side the  wood  I  had  to  cut  my  way  with  my  machete, 


170  LOST  El^DEAVOUR 

in  a  sort  of  gloom  which  chilled  me.  There  was  not 
much  visible  reassuring  life  in  the  woods.  No  life  of 
man,  at  any  rate.  The  birds  were  not  song-birds,  the 
noises  were  not  friendly  noises.  I  would  hear  quaver- 
ing, cracking  noises  from  branches,  rotted  through, 
slowly  giving  way,  and  strange  booming  noises  from  the 
sea.  Very  strangely  the  noises  came  to  me.  There 
must  be  something  dense  in  the  air  of  forests,  so  that 
sound  gets  checked  or  softened  in  its  passage.  Another 
thing  was  strange,  the  silence  of  the  live  things.  That 
part  of  the  island  seemed  almost  deserted.  Now  and 
then  a  rustle  told  me  where  a  snake  vanished.  Some- 
times a  snake  would  drop  from  a  branch  like  a  rope 
flung  down  from  its  pin.  Then,  in  some  chance  open- 
ing of  the  trees,  I  would  see  a  blue  patch  of  sky,  and  a 
silent  bird  would  waver  across  it  into  the  blackness  of 
the  gloom  beyond.  And  as  I  went  I  had  again  that 
feeling  of  being  laughed  at.  I  thought  that  the  trees 
were  spirits  laughing  at  me,  amused  by  my  puniness 
even  as  I  sliced  them  aside.  Another  thing  which  I 
felt  was  this :  that  I  was  in  the  midst  of  an  abominable 
spawn  of  life ;  that  vegetable  life  was  all  round  me  in 
horrible  pulpy  wealth ;  and  that  it  was  a  question  which 
should  win  —  I  with  my  wits  and  machete,  or  it  with 
its  juice  and  rottenness.  I  felt  that  every  oozing  sponge 
of  branch  trampled  under  was  an  enemy  beaten,  a 
menacing  and  stupid  thing  destroyed,  a  vile  kind  of 
life  conquered. 

After  a  time,  however,  as  my  arms  grew  tired  with 
the  continual  cutting,  I  felt  that  this  wild  life  was 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  171 

sapping  my  energy  from  me.  I  came  to  the  track  of  a 
tornado,  which  had  torn  up  the  trees  in  an  almost 
straight  path  across  the  island.  They  lay  tumbled  and 
tossed  and  piled  upon  each  other  five  or  six  deep.  They 
had  rotted  and  died  there;  and  the  creepers  had 
strangled  them  down,  and  the  brush  had  sprouted 
through  them,  till  they  were  a  hedge  of  destruction,  slip- 
pery with  deathly  things,  funguses,  poison-weed,  and 
the  scarlet  squash,  blistered  like  the  wound  it  gives. 
Huge  grey  bladdery  wasps'  nests  hung  from  the  boughs 
of  this  ruin.  Bony,  bare  spikes,  and  withered  stocks 
rose  aloft  like  skeleton  fingers,  as  perches  for  vultures, 
who  brooded  over  it,  like  the  mind  of  the  place,  some- 
times flapping  with  their  wiugs.  It  was  such  a  place 
as  you  come  to  in  a  nightmare,  where  the  bulls  are  after 
you  and  your  breath  is  failing. 

I  watched  it  for  a  moment,  to  make  sure  that  the 
crossing  creepers  were  not  all  snakes.  It  was  a  horrible 
place.  It  sloped  away  down  to  the  sea,  like  a  road  of 
ruin,  heaped  with  the  wreck  of  trees.  Below  me  about 
half  a  mile  away  was  the  sea,  of  a  deep  dark  blue  from 
the  island's  shallow,  but  often  rolling  bright  over  reefs 
and  keys.  Above  me  the  road  of  the  w4iirlwind  topped 
a  rise,  and  vanished,  in  sharp,  jagged  outlines  of  boughs 
against  the  sky.  Behind  me  was  laughing  forest,  be- 
fore me  was  crouched,  attentive,  watching  forest.  I 
believe  that  the  forest  was  watching  me,  to  see  how  I 
should  cross  that  road. 

When  I  had  got  across  I  stood  still  for  a  moment  to 
mop  my  face.     Twice  in  that  passage  I  laid  hold  of 


172  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

boughs  which  writhed  suddenly,  coiling  around  my  arm, 
and  striking  upwards  swiftly.  Both  times  I  had  shaken 
the  snake  free  in  time ;  and  both  times  it  had  fallen  on 
to  a  writhing  mass,  which  I  could  see  down  below  me 
in  the  grass,  where  that  low  kind  of  life  festered  and 
wallowed.  What  the  world  needs  is  a  roaring  bonfire 
to  destroy  those  things ;  a  forest-fire  fanned  by  a  trade- 
wind. 


XII 

But  I  had  had  enough  of  climbing.  I  walked  down 
hill  after  that  to  the  flatter  land  nearer  the  sea.  There 
I  expected  to  progress  more  easily;  even  if  there  were 
no  beach  on  which  I  could  walk,  I  was  pretty  sure  (so 
I  thought)  to  find  the  sciTib  less  dense  as  I  drew  nearer 
to  the  land's  limits.  When  I  got  a  little  way  down 
towards  the  sea  I  came  out  quite  suddenly  on  to  a  bare 
level  patch  of  sea-sand,  covering  the  top  of  a  little  knoll 
about  twenty  yards  across.  It  was  sand  of  the  small 
shingle  kind,  tamped  down  very  tightly  into  a  texture 
like  cement,  so  that  no  weed  of  all  that  lush  growth  had 
done  more  than  trail  across  its  corners.  What  it  was 
or  had  been  I  could  not  conjecture ;  but,  from  the  com- 
parative smallness  of  the  trees  near  about,  I  guessed  that 
the  whole  lower  slope  on  that  part  of  the  island  had  been 
cleared,  and  kept  clear  until  within,  say,  a  year  or 
two  of  my  coming.  I  found  afterwards  that  the  sand 
had  been  brought  there  from  a  beach  more  than  a  mile 
away;  but  who  did  that  heart-breaking  work,  and  why 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  173 

it  was  done,  who  shall  say  ?  I  dug  at  it  with  my 
machete,  wondering  if  it  covered  anything,  and  then 
took  a  good  look  at  the  hill,  the  north  side  of  which, 
from  my  perch  on  the  knoll,  lay  open  to  me  in  all  its 
waving  folds  of  forest.  One  glance  towards  the  sea 
showed  me  that  there  was  no  beach  for  me  to  walk 
along.  Nothing  but  low  clilfs,  and  piled  rocks,  and 
tumbled,  confused  boggy  bits  made  by  landslides.  I 
fancy  the  slides  were  caused  by  the  hill  brooks  fouling 
with  vegetation,  and  wandering  out  to  sea  over  a  vast 
area  in  successions  of  stagnant  pools,  instead  of  directly 
in  a  channel.  Parts  of  the  undrained  upper  earth  had 
been  loosened  by  the  water,  till  at  last  the  whole  col- 
lapsed, and  fell  towards  the  sea  in  a  confused  and  filthy 
jumble,  in  which  more  stagnant  pools  soon  formed,  till 
the  pools,  getting  head,  burst  on  a  little  further.  I 
tried  to  get  on  across  this  morass,  but  it  was  impossible. 
Each  step  took  me  up  to  my  knees  in  foul  water  full  of 
leeches,  or  in  earth  in  its  last  degeneracy.  There  was 
a  smell  over  all  that  place  as  of  death.  You  do  not 
know  it  yet,  you  boy,  but  that  smell  is  everywhere  where 
nature  is  left  alone  to  her  own  luxury  and  waste.  After 
staggering  down  and  through  it,  leaping  across  pools  of 
unknown  depths  of  slime  on  to  landings  of  yellow  mud, 
and  slipping  and  sticking,  and  going  about  to  skirt 
cracks,  where  the  earth,  slowly  settling,  waited  for  a 
shock  to  make  it  fall,  I  got  at  last  to  the  edge  of  the 
land.  Here  I  could  see  the  sea  breaking  down  below 
me,  not  far  below,  upon  rocks  washed  bare  of  earth,  and 
little  muddy  strips  of  beach  five  yards  across,  and  then 


174  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

heaped  mud  from  a  landslide,  and  rocks  going  out  to 
sea  in  a  reef  like  a  great  groin,  and  then  brooks  tum- 
bling. Further  on,  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  where 
I  stood,  the  sea  inshore  was  deep,  for  the  cliffs  rose 
sheer,  a  hundred  feet  high,  with  a  great  surf  washing 
up  against  them.  Above  that  cliff  the  hill  rose  finely 
and  proudly,  with  a  wrap,  like  smoke,  curling  and 
changing  aloft  upon  him.  The  wind  blew  furrows  along 
his  side,  bowing  down  the  trees.  A  patch  of  red  earth 
showed  near  his  top,  and  then  to  the  right  of  it  a  spark- 
ling something,  which  for  a  moment  I  took  to  be  the 
temple.  A  long  look  told  me  that  it  was  not  the  temple, 
but  either  mica  in  a  big  patch,  or  water  with  the  sun 
upon  it.  It  made  my  heart  leap,  though,  for  the  mo- 
ment even  to  think  that  it  might  be  the  temple. 

On  I  went,  along  the  lower  slopes  near  the  sea,  across 
that  heart-breaking  mud.  The  sun  was  now  at  high 
noon,  the  heat  intense,  the  mosquitoes  cruel,  but  still  I 
pushed  on,  mindful  of  the  prize.  A  roll  of  rocks  hid 
a  part  of  my  road  from  my  sight.  I  kept  saying  to 
myself  that  beyond  those  rocks  the  going  would  be 
easier.  I  do  not  know  why  this  thought  occurred  to 
me ;  but  when  one  is  weary,  on  a  bad  road,  very  little  will 
make  one  expect  a  speedy  improvement.  Ignorance  is  a 
great  flatterer.  It  gives  as  true  all  that  you  wish  to  be 
true  at  the  moment. 

When  I  got  to  the  top  of  that  roll  of  rocks  I  found  that 
I  was  on  the  upper  edge  of  a  land-burst.  Beyond  the 
rocks,  and  fifty  feet  below  them,  was  an  expanse  of 
yellow  viscid  water,  a  river  of  it  ten  yards  broad,  drop- 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STOKY  175 

ping  down  to  sea  very  much  as  half -melted  glue  would 
drop.  A  few  grasses,  rank  and  rusty,  like  horsehair, 
grew  on  the  banks  of  this  river.  In  the  mud  of  the 
banks  the  skeleton  of  a  caiman  was  stuck.  He  had  been 
caught  in  the  giue-pot,  poor  brute,  and  starved  to  death. 
A  little  weedy  driftwood  caught  among  his  ribs  showed 
me  that  he  had  been  there  for  some  time.  There  was 
something  medicinal  or  chemical  in  the  water  of  that 
foul  brook.  It  killed  the  vegetation  near  it.  Where 
a  flood  had  been  the  grass  lay  all  dead  and  rotted,  cov- 
ered with  a  salt  of  yellowish  crystals.  There  was  no 
crossing  such  a  brook  as  that.  That  way  was  barred  to 
me. 

I  was  loath  to  own  myself  beaten  by  ISTature,  but  I 
was  beaten  then.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  turn 
back  to  the  track  left  by  the  tornado.  Prom  there,  I 
said  to  myself,  I  would  try  to  reach  the  hill  by  making 
a  bee-line  through  the  forest,  as  I  had  originally 
planned.  But  before  I  started  inland  from  the  track, 
after  plodding  thither  through  the  mud,  I  sat  down  upon 
the  little  sanded  knoll  to  rest  and  to  think  over  my  ad- 
ventures, first  repeating  to  myself  a  Spanish  charm 
against  fatigue.  When  I  had  rested  I  turned  back  up 
the  line  of  the  storm's  path  till  I  reached  the  great 
blistering  squashes  over  which  I  had  scrambled  hours 
before.  That  gave  me  my  course  pretty  accurately. 
I  swung  my  machete  again,  striking  into  the  jungle 
straight  ahead  of  me.  The  blackness  of  the  wood  closed 
round  me  at  once.  The  distant  blowing  of  the  surf 
seemed  to  be  shut  off  from  my  ears.     I  was  back  again 


176  LOST  e:n"deavoue 

with  primitive  victorious  nature,  not  defeated  as  the 
marshy  land  had  been  by  its  own  contrariety,  nor  used 
as  the  sea  was  used  by  man's  inventions,  but  triumphant 
and  terrible,  a  riot  of  horrid  life,  too  strong  for  any- 
thing except  gliding  fat  snakes  which  hissed  and  struck, 
and  the  unclean  moths  which  haunted  the  darkness.  I 
had  the  feeling  that  it  was  all  intensely  amused  at  my 
persistence.  Those  dark  trees,  infinitely  tall,  among 
the  tops  of  which,  far  up,  I  could  see  at  rare  moments 
the  gleam  of  the  sun  on  the  metal  of  the  leaves,  were 
all  full  of  a  fiendish  glee  at  my  endeavour.  This  feel- 
ing, which  would  have  frightened  most  people,  took  from 
me  the  sense  of  solitude  —  of  solitude  terrible  and  de- 
structive —  which  the  woods  foster  in  so  many.  I  felt 
that  I  was  not  alone  there,  and  that  I  with  my  machete 
was  as  much  a  conqueror  as  Alexander.  I  was  con- 
quering base  kinds  of  life,  slicing  them  away  from  the 
earth  as  a  mower  cuts  grass,  a  dozen  pulpy  lengths  of 
vegetable  at  each  blow. 

So  I  went  on  till,  I  suppose,  five  in  the  afternoon, 
when  I  stopped  to  rest.  After  resting  I  experienced 
what  very  weary  people  frequently  experience,  a  greater 
sharpness  of  the  senses  on  setting  out  again.  When  I 
set  out  into  the  wilds  after  my  rest  I  was  conscious  of 
the  noise  of  the  surf,  which  I  seemed  to  have  neglected 
for  an  hour  or  two,  and  of  another  stranger  noise  which 
I  could  not  account  for.  It  was  a  kind  of  a  whistling 
noise,  yet  not  quite  a  whistle  either,  for  it  droned  and 
drummed,  and  then  went  booming  and  crying  aloud, 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STOKY  177 

sleepily,  eerily,  and  with  an  insistence  which  made  it 
seem  like  the  humming  of  the  earth  as  it  revolved.  It 
was  a  noise  which  seemed  all  mixed  up  with  the  noise 
of  the  world,  and  a  part  of  it,  so  that  at  last  I  found  my- 
self wondering  why  I  had  not  noticed  it  before.  Then 
it  began  to  awe  me,  for  there  was  a  note  in  it  which 
went  to  the  heart.  It  was  as  though  it  had  been  going 
on  for  long  ages,  and  had  learned,  oh,  thousands  of 
secrets  which  had  happened  there  —  strange  secrets, 
secrets  of  what  was  going  on  under  the  veil  of  Nature, 
mystery  and  terror  and  delight  —  and  now  was  croon- 
ing about  them. 

What  it  was  I  did  not  know,  but  I  remember  say- 
ing to  myself  that  it  was  an  Indian  drum  being  played 
by  a  priest  in  an  incantation.  I  have  seen  them  like 
that,  in  front  of  a  temple,  or  even  shut  away  in  their 
houses,  beating  on  their  bamboo  drums  with  a  gentle 
rhythm  which  went  on,  and  died,  and  quickened,  till  it 
was  not  like  drumming  at  all,  but  like  the  flowing  of  a 
sort  of  blood  of  music  over  a  brain  in  which  an  indi- 
vidual is  a  thought  or  a  half-thought,  like  personal  an- 
nihilation, like  a  participation  in  all  ecstasy.  It  needs 
the  Indian  life  to  make  it  all  that  —  fire-flies,  and  the 
moon  coming,  and  the  incense  smouldering  on  the  cop- 
per ;  but  if  I  had  an  Indian  drum  here,  and  could  beat 
long  enough,  as  the  Indians  beat,  I  would  take  you  out 
of  your  personal  lives  into  the  life  into  which  all  life 
ebbs  at  death.  You  would  be  like  little  red  leaves 
whirled  along  by  a  comet.     You  would  see  the  world 


178  LOST  EN'DEAVOUK 

below  you,  spread  out  like  a  map,  and  the  stars  dancing 
past  like  golden  globes,  and  an  air  would  race  across 
your  brain  like  a  sweet  fire. 

I  said  to  myself  that  where  a  magical  drumming 
was  there  must  be  Indians  skilled  in  their  religion, 
which  is  little  more  than  the  practice  of  creating  illu- 
sion magically.  It  occurred  to  me  that  I  must  be  near 
the  temple,  and  that  this  drumming  must  be  a  signal 
to  me.  Perhaps  the  high  priests  were  there  calling  me 
to  them.  Perhaps,  too,  something  more  terrible  was 
happening  there.  I  remembered  all  the  horrible  In- 
dian tales  I  had  ever  heard,  of  spirits  taking  possession 
of  the  dead,  and  walking  in  the  disused  bodies  to  do 
what  they  had  to  do.  Perhaps  the  old  priest's  body 
was  filled  by  something  greater  than  life,  which  beat 
upon  the  Indian  drum  there,  as  the  spider  smears  sweet- 
ness on  the  web  to  draw  to  itself  a  prey.  In  the  forest 
there,  with  the  unreality  of  half-seen  things  all  about 
me,  all  things  seemed  possible.  In  the  presence  of  so 
much  strange  nature  one  could  not  but  believe  in 
strange  things  which  used  the  visible  life  as  a  foil  or 
screen  for  their  secret  ends. 


XIII 

It  is  a  maxim  with  me  that  a  doubtful  thing  is  the 
only  really  evil  thing.  If  one  knows  an  evil,  one  can 
guard  against  it,  or  lose  one's  fear  by  combating  it.  If 
one  knows  a  good,  one  can  practise  it,  or  lose  one's  fear 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  179 

by  defending  it.  But  between  those  states  one  is  timor- 
ous and  wasted  and  self-questioning.  I  was  not  going 
to  wait  there  in  the  gloom  till  mv  nerves  took  hold  of 
me  and  destroyed  me.  I  was  going  to  have  it  out  with 
my  suspicions.  I  was  going  to  know  what  it  was  which 
made  that  noise  before  the  darkness  came  down  and 
held  me  a  prisoner  with  the  terror  it  aroused.  After  a 
minute  or  two  I  decided  that  the  noise  was  not  really 
omnipresent,  as  it  seemed,  but  coming  from  one  quarter 
of  the  wood,  a  little  to  my  left  hand.  I  marched  for- 
ward to  that  quarter,  slicing  down  the  trees  with  ve- 
hement blows  which  gave  me  courage.  The  noise  grew 
louder  as  I  drew  nearer  to  what  made  it ;  but  as  it  gath- 
ered force  it  changed  to  a  shriller  note,  which  was  so 
like  a  bird's  note  that  even  I  was  daunted.  For  all  the 
Indians  I  have  ever  met  have  a  story  of  a  bird-headed 
woman,  who  haunts  the  deep  woods,  and  pipes  with  a 
clear  throat  to  her  prey  till  it  comes  within  her  clutch. 
The  Indians  say  that  she  is  very  beautiful  and  great, 
but  they  fear  her  more  than  any  of  their  gods.  When 
there  is  no  moon  she  roams  at  night  about  the  villages, 
singing  to  the  men  till  a  passion  seizes  them  to  go  out  to 
fling  themselves  to  her.  An  Indian  of  Roatan  told  me 
that  she  had  once  brushed  past  in  the  forest  when  he 
was  late  from  hunting.  Her  eyes  were  flaming,  like 
the  yellow  eye  of  an  eagle,  he  said,  and  her  bill  was 
bloody  from  her  feast,  and  she  went  past  him  swiftly, 
glancing  aside,  as  a  bird  will,  with  alert,  quick  twistings 
of  her  neck.  She  did  not  see  him,  only  flitted  by,  croon- 
ing a  little,  with  a  blithe,  inhuman  chuckling,  as  though 


180  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

she  were  talking  to  herself.  I  confess  that  the  piping 
within  that  murmurous  music  daunted  me,  when  I 
thought  of  that  twisting  neck  prying  among  the  stalks 
of  the  lianes. 

It  was  a  less  terrible  thing  which  fronted  me  when  I 
pushed  through  into  the  presence  of  the  song-bird.  I 
found  myself  at  the  entrance  to  a  sort  of  natural  basin, 
out  of  which  a  brook  bubbled  cheerily  down.  Inside 
the  basin,  which  had  been  hollowed  artificially  (from 
what  looked  to  me  to  be  a  rough  limestone)  as  smoothly 
as  the  sea  hollows  a  pothole,  the  water  fell  in  a  bright, 
curving,  varying  jet  from  a  stone  spout  into  a  vast  war- 
whistle.  You  may  never  have  seen  a  war-whistle. 
They  are  huge  hollow  jar  things  made  of  earthenware, 
in  all  manner  of  uncanny  shapes,  with  many  mouths 
and  stops.  You  pour  water  into  them  —  the  better  if 
you  pour  it  irregularly  —  and  the  water,  forcing  out 
the  air  through  the  stops,  booms,  gurgles,  and  pipes, 
making  such  a  war-call  as  you  would  not  believe,  had 
you  never  heard  one.  This  whistle  before  me  was  big- 
ger and  more  cunningly  made  than  any  I  had  seen.  It 
was  so  constructed  that  whenever  it  filled  to  the  brim 
it  emptied  suddenly,  with  a  quick  sluicing,  that  it  would 
again  fill,  and  pipe  as  it  filled.  The  note  made  by  it 
varied  very  much,  for  there  was  some  arrangement  of  a 
simple  kind  inside  the  stone  spout,  so  that  the  volume 
of  the  water  in  the  jet  varied,  thus  varying  the  force 
with  which  the  air  was  expelled.  I  do  not  know  how 
long  it  had  been  there.  Probably  for  a  long  age  of 
time.     There  were  trailers  of  a  green  weedy  stuff  in 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  181 

the  cemented  channel  in  which  the  waste  ran,  and  the 
spout  was  worn  by  the  water  to  a  blunted  image  of 
what  it  had  been.  I  did  not  know  at  the  time  why  such 
a  whistle  should  be  put  in  such  a  place.  Afterwards 
I  found  that  there  were  several  of  them  in  different 
parts  of  the  island,  some  of  them  so  old  that  the  spouts 
had  broken  away.  The  channels  of  them  were  choked 
and  cracked  by  the  pushing  bindweeds  and  the  canes. 
One  of  them  (the  oldest  of  them,  by  the  crudity  of  its 
grotesques)  was  the  biggest  piece  of  earthenware  I  have 
ever  seen. 

These  things  were  familiar  to  me  later.  Seeing  this 
one  for  the  first  time  gave  me  many  reflections.  I 
thought  that  it  had  been  put  there  as  a  guard  to  the 
approaches  of  the  temple,  or  perhaps  as  a  guard  to  the 
water,  which  was  pure,  cool  spring  water,  always  a 
precious  thing  in  such  a  place ;  or,  it  may  be,  as  a  propi- 
tiation and  thank-offering,  to  keep  the  water  always 
flowing  there,  even  in  the  dry  times.  My  rest  by  that 
spring,  where  the  wit  of  man  had  been  exercised  so 
cunningly,  was  the  pleasantest  part  of  the  day  to  me. 
I  wondered  what  the  slim  brown  artist  looked  like,  and 
thought  of,  and  how  he  spent  his  evenings,  when  he 
had  washed  away  the  dust  of  his  masonry  and  gone 
home  from  work.  I  wondered  what  he  died  of,  per- 
haps long  afterwards,  after  visiting  the  mainland  again 
and  wandering  in  those  hidden  cities  which  exist,  they 
say,  in  the  forests  somewhere,  unknown  to  white  men. 

After  my  rest  I  walked  on  beyond  the  channel,  only 
pausing  to  hone  my  machete  when  the  continual  chop- 


182  LOST  e:^[deavour 

ping  bhmted  it.  In  another  half-hour  I  came  to  what 
I  afterwards  called  the  wall,  which  barred  my  progress. 
I  do  not  know  what  a  scientific  man  would  call  it ;  but 
it  was  as  though  all  the  lower  part  of  the  island,  that 
part  on  which  I  stood  and  over  which  I  had  travelled, 
had  been  snapped  off  sharply  from  the  upper  part  in 
a  clean  fracture,  and  thrust  down  forty  feet  below  it. 
My  part  of  the  island  ended  suddenly  at  an  abrupt 
cliff,  forty  or  fifty  feet  high,  above  which  the  island 
went  on  as  before.  There  had  been  some  mighty  con- 
vulsion there  in  the  old  days.  The  island  had  been 
torn  across  by  a  sudden  collapse  of  half  its  bulk.  Now, 
as  a  consequence,  there  was  no  getting  from  one  end 
of  the  island  to  the  other  if  one  had  no  ladder. 

At  first  I  thought  that  I  would  be  able  to  scale  the 
cliff,  steep  though  it  was.  This  was  not  possible.  I 
got  up  some  little  distance,  and  then,  as  the  rock  was 
very  rotten,  fell  heavily,  in  a  shower  of  grey  shales, 
full  of  dust  and  old  cocoons.  I  tried  again  in  other 
places,  but  always  with  the  same  result.  That  cliff 
could  not  be  scaled  without  a  ladder.  I  went  apart  to 
the  left,  or  south  side,  to  see  if  the  cliff  gave  or  had 
fallen  somewhere,  but  I  found  that  it  stretched  on  in  a 
steep  wall  as  far  as  the  eye  could  follow  it  on  its  march 
to  the  coast.  I  did  not  follow  it  to  the  right,  for  my 
sense  of  direction  told  me  that  I  should  soon  come  to 
the  poisonous  bog,  or  river,  where  the  caiman  had  been 
caught  in  the  mud.  I  pressed  on  further  to  the  south, 
going  down  hill  now,  having  crossed  the  island's  central 
ridge.     In  a  clearing  of  the  wood  I  looked  down  and 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  183 

saw  the  flat  land  near  the  sea,  crowned  with  noble  tim- 
ber, and  the  sea,  grey  with  heat  haze,  trembling,  and  a 
gannet  plunging.  Something  of  the  colour  of  sunset 
was  deepening  the  brilliance.  One  great  tropical  cedar, 
which  was  like  a  king  there,  glowed  out  like  blood.  Up 
there  on  the  ridge  the  air  was  fresh.  It  had  a  salt, 
clean  tang  about  it,  unlike  the  dead  air  shut  in  the 
forest.  I  took  great  gulps  of  it  to  give  me  strength  to 
go  on.  Out  there  in  the  sun,  for  I  had  the  sun  still, 
though  soon  the  cliff  would  shut  him  from  me,  I  had 
none  of  the  fancies  which  haunted  me  in  the  wood. 
Only,  as  I  went  on  and  the  sun  drooped  behind  the 
island's  shoulder,  the  cliff  became  sinister.  It  was  so 
resolute  and  defiant,  standing  up  there.  It  eyed  me 
darkly.  I  kept  saying  to  myself  that  it  had  the  power 
to  fall  forward  to  crush  me. 

The  sun  was  going  down  now.  The  woods  flamed 
out  into  stronger  colours.  Scarlet  spangles  came  upon 
the  clouds  and  glowed  to  crimson  and  deadened  to  gold. 
The  birds  cried,  the  air  grew,  as  one  might  call  it,  tenser, 
as  it  does  in  the  evening  always,  so  that  the  calling  of 
the  war-whistle  mellowed  the  birds'  crying,  making  it 
a  part  of  itself,  a  part  of  the  beauty  of  twilight.  A 
sudden  bend  in  the  cliff  wall  brought  me  face  to  face 
with  the  rock,  which  till  then  had  lain  on  my  right 
hand.  A  glow  of  light,  as  red  as  firelight,  lay  fading 
upon  the  wall,  to  show  me  a  sudden  change  of  surface 
to  some  harder  stone,  he^vn  here  to  a  narrow,  triangular 
doorway,  lit  by  the  glow  to  a  little  distance  within. 


184  LOST  ENDEAVOTJK 


XIV 


I  was  not  startled  by  the  presence  of  the  door.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  my  guardian  spirit,  after  bringing 
me  thus  far,  wished  to  give  me  shelter  for  the  night. 
Perhaps,  looking  in  the  glass  of  the  future,  she  had 
seen  my  coming  across  the  generations,  and  had  caused 
some  long  dead  Indian  priest  to  hew  this  cell  for  me, 
so  that  I  might  rest  (saved  from  the  dews  and  the  fever) 
where  of  old  he  had  rested.  He  had  been  dead  a  long, 
long  time  that  Indian,  so  long  that  the  mat  at  the  door, 
which  no  snake  will  ever  pass,  had  fallen  to  dust.  The 
dust  lay  pure  and  dry  upon  the  sill,  with  fragments  of 
hair  still  unrotted  in  it.  Within,  a  few  dead  leaves  lay, 
ungnawed  by  the  slugs.  The  whole  of  the  cell  glistened 
with  mica  spangles.  The  floor  was  sanded.  In  one 
corner,  where  the  light  made  it  plain,  the  sand  was 
rather  deeply  printed  by  a  tiny  footmark  (I  supposed 
that  it  was  made  by  a  woman's  foot).  It  was  the  print 
of  the  right  foot  of  some  one  leaving  the  cell. 

Long  ages  had  dinuned  the  sharpness  of  its  outline. 
Particles  of  sand  had  fallen,  so  that  the  lines  of  the 
foot  could  not  be  read ;  but  it  was  still  eloquent  of  its 
maker,  that  print  in  the  sand.  She  had  been  of  some 
higher  race  than  the  Indians.  She  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  wear  sandals,  as  I  could  see  from  the  peculiar 
separation  between  the  great  toe  and  that  next  to  it, 
caused  by  the  passage  of  the  sandal-thong.  In  height 
she  had  stood  about  five  feet,  perhaps  not  quite  so  much. 
I  could  not  help  feeling  that  she  had  been  delicate  and 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  185 

beautiful,  with  the  high,  austere,  wise  beauty  of  those 
who  pass  their  time  in  meditating  upon  spiritual  mat- 
ters; but,  whatever  she  had  been,  she  was  dead  now, 
and  long  blown  away  in  dust  by  the  trade-winds,  beauty 
and  wisdom  together. 

There  was  a  shrub  of  torch-wood  near  the  cave.  I 
tore  down  a  great  dead  branch  of  it,  and  lit  it  with  my 
flint  and  steel.  With  this  in  my  hand  I  passed  over 
the  threshold  into  the  cave,  telling  myself  that  I  was 
going  into  the  presence  of  that  dead  woman,  and  that 
I  must  be  reverent  there,  because  she  had  been  beautiful 
and  good. 

Striking  the  end  of  my  torch  into  the  sand  I  looked 
about  me.  The  cell,  like  so  many  Indian  cells,  was 
shaped  in  something  of  the  pyramid  fashion,  about 
seven  feet  high  by  ten  broad  upon  the  floor.  Nearer  to 
the  top  it  was  much  narrower,  of  course,  owing  to  the 
housing  in  of  the  walls.  Care  had  been  given  to  the 
walls.  They  had  been  polished,  and  then  covered  with 
a  kind  of  hard,  well-dried  plaster,  upon  which  the  priest- 
ess had  painted  s}Tnbols  in  blue  and  yellow,  to  say  that 
she  was  a  priestess  of  the  truth.  She  had  been  born, 
she  said,  in  the  year  of  the  great  earthquake  at  some 
place  sacred  to  water  (thus  I  read  it),  and  many  secrets 
had  been  made  known  to  her  by  the  charity  of  many 
spirits.  Her  water-jar,  painted  with  grotesques,  lay  to 
one  side,  with  one  of  those  well-worn  flat  stones  which 
the  Indians  make  hot  in  the  fire,  so  that  their  maize 
cakes  when  rolled  out  upon  them  may  crisp  into  crack- 
nels at  onoe.     This  they  use  instead  of  baking.     A 


186  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

second  covered  jar  contained  the  roughly  crushed  maize- 
flour,  or  pounded  corn,  which  they  make  on  their 
querns.  A  third,  tightly  closed,  contained  maize  cobs, 
from  which  the  corn  had  all  fallen.  There  was  an 
inner  chamber  to  the  cell.  To  reach  it  I  had  to  stoop 
to  all  fours,  for  the  door  was  very  low  and  narrow, 
like  a  little  passage.  Inside  there  was  a  rather  larger 
room,  dark  and  austere,  with  a  higher  roof.  An  altar 
of  stone  lay  across  one  end  of  it,  and  something  lay 
upon  the  altar,  covered  with  some  very  old  worn  Indian 
linen.  I  did  not  touch  the  linen,  for  I  knew  that  the 
altar  had  served  this  priestess  for  bed,  and  that  she  lay 
dead  upon  it  now,  the  sacrifice  of  her  life  complete. 
My  foot  struck  upon  something  hard,  which  clattered. 
It  was  a  little  heap  of  earthenware  plaques,  painted 
with  sjTnbols.  Taking  them  up  to  examine  them,  I 
saw  that  they  were  bound  together  by  fine  gold  clips 
into  a  sort  of  breastplate  or  corselet.  She  had  worn 
them  over  her  robes  of  ritual,  I  believe,  in  solemn  incan- 
tation. I  know  that  some  visionary  Indian  priests  see 
symbols  in  their  dream.  By  symbols,  I  mean  arrange- 
ments of  line  and  colour  capable,  mystically,  of  suggest- 
ing emotions  and  images  to  the  mind  of  any  attentive 
person  beholding  them.  Each  symbol  seen  by  the 
visionary  is  therefore  a  thing  of  power,  by  which  he 
can  influence  his  fellows.  These  are  revealed  only  after 
strict  discipline  in  meditation.  As  a  poet,  by  striving 
towards  excellence,  becomes  a  fit  receptacle  for  excel- 
lence, so  one  of  these  priests,  ever  meditating  upon  oc- 
cult wisdom,  is  rewarded  by  the  gift  of  it.     I  have 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STOEY  187 

known  Indians  who  added  fresh  symbols  to  their  mys- 
tical robes  after  each  vision,  till  they  were  hung  with 
the  evidence  of  their  wisdom  from  their  neck  to  their 
heels. 

I  picked  up  the  little  corselet  sadly,  knowing  that  it 
was  the  record  of  a  life's  meditation.  These  few  round 
plaques  of  earth,  not  well  baked,  and  rather  cracked 
now,  so  that  the  paint  had  scaled  upon  them,  was  the 
book  of  the  priestess.  If  I  had  understood  the  message 
of  the  hieroglyphs  upon  them  I  should  have  understood 
her  too,  and  known  what  manner  of  \voman  she  had 
been.  I  went  out  from  that  chamber  of  death  into  the 
outer  chamber,  where  I  lit  a  great  fire  upon  the  hearth- 
stone. Before  the  light  faded  I  found  the  spring 
whence  she  drew  her  water  so  long  ago.  Drawing  some 
I  put  her  pot  to  boil,  laying  plantains  in  the  embers 
to  roast,  and  shredding  them  into  the  pot,  to  make  that 
pleasant  drink  called  mishlaw,  which  is  as  refreshing  as 
coca.  Darkness  came  upon  the  world  before  my  meal 
was  cooked;  but  I  did  not  fear  the  dark.  I  piled  on 
more  wood  to  make  a  blaze,  and  ate  my  food  in  the 
glow  of  it,  staring  out  into  the  blackness  of  the  forest, 
where  the  branches  moved  continually,  making  a  mur- 
mur as  though  they  were  strange  birds  passing  over  the 
stars.  Long  I  stayed  there,  staring  into  the  night,  till 
at  last  sleep  took  me  and  I  drowsed  away  into  dreams 
and  more  dreams,  in  that  dim  old  cell  of  the  priestess, 
where  immortals  had  once  moved  and  called  to  the  some- 
thing hidden  in  human  flesh. 


188  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 


XV 


I  am  not  given  to  dreaming  as  a  general  rule,  but  my 
walk  and  my  excitement  made  me  dream  strangely  that 
night.  My  dream  was  not  like  common  dreaming,  in 
which  the  dream  dominates  the  personality;  but  won- 
derful and  kingly,  my  own  self,  awake  and  strong, 
directing  my  own  actions.  When  I  say  that  I  dreamed 
I  express  myself  badly.  I  should  say  that  I  woke  up 
into  a  new  and  vivid  life,  more  splendid  than  this,  a 
life  of  intenser  colour  and  finer  ecstasy,  in  a  world  con- 
ducted by  another  intelligence  and  governed  by  other 
laws.  It  was,  as  I  suppose,  the  real  world,  of  which 
this  world  is  nothing  but  the  passing  shadow.  I  woke 
up,  then,  in  the  cave  where  I  had  fallen  asleep,  but  I 
woke  up  into  its  reality.  The  walls  of  hewn  stone  were 
changed  to  opal  in  which  fire  burned.  The  fire  on  the 
hearth  was  like  visible  music.  I  cannot  describe  the 
beauty  of  the  flame  in  any  other  way.  The  trees  out- 
side stood  like  an  array  of  knights  in  mail.  Their 
fruits  were  like  lamps,  their  leaves  like  jewels.  The 
plaques  which  lay  beside  me  coloured  and  took  life. 
Upon  a  shelf  on  the  wall,  which  I  had  noticed,  a  mon- 
strous serpent  began  to  stir  from  what  looked  to  be  a 
curled  string.  His  scales  grew  erect,  his  head  raised 
itself,  moving  from  side  to  side,  with  a  glittering  of 
obsidian  eyes.  On  the  other  side  of  the  cell,  from 
another  shelf,  another  snake  arose.  The  two  together 
hissed  and  swayed,  growing  larger  and  larger,  till  their 
blue-black  bulk  seemed  to  surround  me  and  surround 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  189 

me,  while  the  rattling  of  their  sistra  began  like  the 
beating  of  drums.  I  knew  that  the  beating  of  the 
drums,  or  the  sounding  of  a  rattle,  is  a  priestly  duty  in 
all  great  temples  before  the  god  appears.  It  is  one  of 
the  means  of  calling  upon  him  at  the  commencement 
of  an  evocation.  I  was  lapped  about  by  these  great 
snakes,  and  lulled  by  the  calling  of  that  rattling,  till  the 
earth  had  all  fallen  away  from  me,  and  I  was  aloft 
somewhere,  removed  from  my  body,  looking  down  on 
it  all  as  a  star  looks  down,  in  the  daytime,  unseen  by 
man. 

Louder  the  rattling  came,  till  it  was  like  a  laughter 
of  the  earth  itself,  like  a  shaking  of  the  ribs  of  the 
world.  In  and  out  of  the  noise  of  the  rattling,  the 
hissing  of  the  snakes,  mingled  with  the  piping  of  the 
war-whistle,  made  a  kind  of  pattern  of  lighter  music. 
It  was  like  some  dancer,  some  bright,  delicate  woman 
of  sound,  stepping  on  a  sombre  floor.  Then,  in  the 
middle  of  the  music,  the  inner  wall  parted  with  a  crash, 
and  I  was  within,  touching  the  altar,  which  glowed  red 
like  a  great  pulsing  ember.  It  was  like  a  heat,  contract- 
ing and  expanding.  It  was  an  ecstasy  to  touch  it ;  for 
it  was  no  longer  a  slab  of  rock  for  sacrifice.  It  was  the 
very  heart  of  the  goddess  which  received  the  sacrifice. 
The  figure  hidden  by  the  cloth  was  no  more  the  body 
of  the  priestess.  The  cloth  which  had  covered  it  fell 
aside  so  slowly  that  I  could  see  the  broidered  birds 
upon  it,  and  note  how  the  tips  of  their  wings  were 
orange.  For  an  instant  I  saw  the  thin  body,  covered 
with  the  death-wrap.     Then  the  withered  thing  surged 


190  LOST  ENDEAVOUE 

up  into  life.  It  was  as  though  a  hot  sap  passed  through 
the  veins,  filling  the  dried-up  channels.  I  saw  the  wrap 
upon  the  arm  tighten  as  the  life  swelled  the  veins.  The 
cloth  burst  and  shredded  up  into  dust,  and  changed  to 
a  soft  white  stuff,  spangled  with  the  green-gold  wing- 
shields  of  the  sacred  beetles.  The  arms  showed  firm 
and  living.  The  figTire  rose  slowly,  full  of  life  and 
power ;  glowing  with  life  that  was  like  an  internal  fire, 
visible  and  tangible  to  me.  She  leaned  forward  and 
took  my  head  between  her  hands.  It  was  as  though 
arrows  were  darted  into  my  brain.  She  drew  me  up 
for  one  instant;  and  then,  with  an  intolerable  pang, 
the  cave  and  altar  were  flung  to  fragments  about  me  in 
one  scattering  burst,  and  I  was  standing,  shaking  and 
gasping,  on  a  barren  patch  upon  the  hillside,  amid  a 
noise  of  the  piping  of  war- whistles,  and  the  droning  of 
drums.  Soon  these  died  away  and  it  was  all  still,  so 
still  that  I  could  look  about  me.  I  was  on  the  hill, 
looking  over  the  island.  It  was  all  spread  out  below 
me  like  a  map,  but  rather  dark  as  yet  and  unformed, 
so  that  I  could  only  tell  where  I  was  by  the  gleaming 
of  the  lagoon  where  we  anchored,  and  the  sight  of  the 
hill  peak  below  and  above  me.  I  had  no  sooner  said 
to  myself,  "  It  is  dark  now,  and  still  morning,  but  pres- 
ently the  sun  will  come,"  when  the  light  quickened  upon 
the  sea,  and  advanced  in  a  charging  golden  army  over 
the  waves,  touching  them  all  to  splendour,  making  them 
fiery  and  fire-flecked.  The  light  grew  upon  the  island, 
ruffling  up  over  the  dunes,  over  the  forest,  over  the  hill, 
till  all  was  rapturous  with  light.     Looking  down  at 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  191 

that  moment,  I  could  see  the  surf  flashing  on  the  reefs, 
and  two  great  bursts  of  seas  toppling  to  right  and  left. 
Over  went  the  sea  in  a  smash  of  foam,  the  white  spread 
out  and  passed,  and  the  sea  gathered  again,  and  again 
burst,  till  those  white  masses  were  stamped  on  my  brain 
as  clearly  as  though  they  had  been  seared  there  with  a 
brand.  Looking  round  I  saw  behind  me  a  cone  of  rock 
grotesquely  carved  into  the  likeness  of  an  angry  man. 
It  seemed  to  put  out  its  tongue  at  me  while  it  revolved, 
and  then  suddenly  I  was  standing  in  a  dim  place,  like 
a  mist,  out  of  which  gTand,  elemental  shapes  advanced 
and  faded,  gleaming  with  all  colour,  sweet  with  all 
odour,  rhythmical  with  all  music,  clanging,  and  crying 
out,  beaked  and  horned  and  scaled.  For  an  instant  I 
stood  among  them,  rocking  with  the  drunkenness  of  an 
incense  which  was  hot  to  breathe,  like  flame;  then  the 
elementals  faded,  and  I  was  back  before  the  altar,  feel- 
ing my  life  sucked  from  me,  and  the  glory  passing  and 
passing  and  passing,  till,  with  a  little  quick  twitch,  as 
though  a  hand  had  pulled  a  curtain,  it  was  all  gone, 
and  I  was  lying  in  the  cell  again  by  an  almost  dead  fire, 
watching  the  cool  dawn  beginning  to  give  a  greyness 
to  the  trees. 

I  knew  that  I  had  looked  upon  the  temple.  I  knew 
its  whereabouts.  I  had  seen  the  marks  of  the  map  in 
those  two  bursts  of  water.  That  red  cone  was  its  door. 
It  was  from  that  that  the  bearings  had  been  taken.  If 
I  had  seen  the  place  a  thousand  times  I  could  not  have 
knowTi  it  more  clearly.  There  was  the  spur.  There 
were  the  Roncadores.     It  was  all  mapped  out  in  my 


192  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

brain  in  letters  of  light.  I  sprang  from  mj  place  by 
the  hearth,  crying  out  that  I  would  find  the  temple  that 
day  before  the  sun  set.  I  was  still  flushed  by  my 
dream.  My  brain  was  all  whirling  and  singing  in  me. 
Something  more  strong  than  life  was  surging  like  wine 
in  me.  It  was  something  of  a  shock  to  me,  on  going 
within  to  the  altar-cell,  to  find  the  place  all  dead  and 
still,  faded  to  a  dusty  greyness  again,  with  a  shrivelled 
figiire  beneath  the  cloth,  lying  on  a  cold  stone  slab.  On 
the  walls,  too,  in  the  outer  cell,  the  snakes  turned  to 
two  mosaic  snakes,  roughly  drawn  in  high  relief,  and 
stuck  about  with  turquoise  and  obsidian.  The  dust 
lay  unstirred  everywhere,  and  there  was  the  printed 
footmark  in  the  sand. 

I  passed  out  from  the  cell,  and  down  along  the  cliff 
wall  towards  the  sea.  The  air  came  freshly  to  me. 
There  was  a  brightness  on  the  forest  which  had  been  so 
black  and  hateful  to  me  only  the  day  before.  Soon  I 
came  to  a  place  where  the  cliff  was  all  fallen  over  in  a 
jumble.  I  gave  a  gTcat  shout  when  I  saw  that.  Soon 
I  had  climbed  to  the  upper  half  of  the  island,  laughing 
to  think  that  behind  me  I  left  all  my  past,  all  my  doubts, 
all  my  labours,  all  my  anxieties.  I  was  going  on,  now, 
to  knowledge  and  certainty.^ 

I  kept  well  up  hill,  steering  by  my  compass,  getting 

1  I  found  out  later  that  two  of  O'Xeill's  guiding  marks  were  be- 
hind me.  The  "  Scree  "  of  his  doggerel  was  merely  the  place  where 
the  cliff  had  fallen.  The  "  Stone  Virgin  "  was  near  the  southern 
coast,  on  the  fringe  of  the  forest  there,  well  witliin  that  lower  half 
of  the  island  which  I  despised  now.  Above  the  cliff  none  but 
priests  were  allowed  to  go.     This,  as  I  say,  I  found  out  later. 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  193 

stray  glimpses  of  the  hill-crest  to  correct  my  course. 
The  wood  was  thick ;  but  as  I  drew  further  up  hill  the 
brushwood  became  thinner,  so  that  I  could  walk  with- 
out using  my  machete.  The  trees  were  very  old  and 
grand.  On  one  of  them  I  saw  a  "  blaze,"  or  square 
cutting  in  the  bark,  upon  w^hich  had  been  graved  very 
clumsily  something  like  a  swastika  mark.  Almost  at 
the  same  instant  I  caught  sight  of  a  lump  of  carved 
stone,  all  grown  at  the  top  with  grasses,  lying  to  my 
right,  at  a  little  distance  from  my  track. 

I  said  to  myself  that  this  must  be  O'Neill's  third 
mark,  the  old  king's  tomb.  It  was  not  a  tomb  as  it 
happened :  it  was  an  altar,  of  the  kind  which,  among  the 
Sisal  Indians,  they  call  Kuey.  It  is  a  mass  of  carved 
stone,  with  little  niches  in  it,  in  which  the  gods  (and 
the  sacrifices)  used  to  be  put.  This  one  here  and  one 
near  Sisal  are  the  only  ones  I  have  ever  seen. 

There  now  remained  only  two  marks  to  find,  the 
drinking-cup  and  the  brook.  Keeping  straight  up  the 
hill  I  came  to  a  tangle  of  broken  earth  in  which  the 
trees,  though  growing,  sprang  from  the  ground  in  all 
sorts  of  queer  twists  and  contortions.  Fifty  years  be- 
fore the  whole  of  that  side  of  the  hill  had  slipped  from 
its  seat  and  sprawled  away,  with  its  shaggy  fell  of 
jungle,  till  firmer  earth  had  checked  it.  The  landslide 
had  settled  there,  and  the  old  lush  tropical  life  had 
gone  on  again,  with  the  trees  at  odd  angles,  just  as  they 
had  fallen  when  the  slip  began.  Many  old  seeds, 
brought  to  life  after  long  burial,  were  sprouting  and 
vigorous  there   above   the   grasses   which  had   hidden 


194  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

them,  perhaps  for  centuries.  I  think  that  this  often 
happens  in  the  tropics.  A  strong,  strangling  plant 
takes  hold  and  covers  up  many  weaker  plants  from 
sight,  and  rots  above  them,  shutting  them  up  in  a  com- 
post of  earth  too  thick  and  hard  for  them  to  burst. 
Then,  it  may  be  centuries  later,  something  knocks  away 
their  compost,  and  out  comes  the  old  crushed  life,  bud- 
ding and  vigorous,  with  its  strange  blossom  and 
stranger  fruit  (unlike  anything  left  in  the  world  per- 
haps), to  puzzle  the  scientific  expert. 

In  this  broken  part  of  the  hill  I  had  great  difficulty. 
The  going  was  very  bad  indeed,  and  something  in  the 
plants  under  foot  seemed  to  please  the  mosquitoes, 
which  rose  in  swarms  at  each  step.  I  think  that  those 
mosquitoes  could  have  bored  through  steel  plates  with 
those  bills  of  theirs.  Nevertheless,  I  kept  on  as  well 
as  I  could  till  I  came  to  a  flat  part  of  the  hill,  where 
there  was  a  rough  stone  block  carved  in  high  relief, 
with  legs,  which  supported  a  rude  stone  trough  or  cup. 
I  suppose  it  measured  about  four  feet  across  at  the  top 
by  three  feet  deep.  It  was  pierced  at  the  bottom  with 
an  outlet  hole.  I  do  not  know  for  what  rite  it  had 
been  made.  It  was  an  uncanny  looking  thing,  like  a 
big  mushroom,  the  fruit  of  which  had  been  turned 
topsy  turvy.  I  guessed  that  this  was  the  drinking-cup 
of  which  O'Neill  had  spoken.  A  brook,  the  brook  of 
the  rhyme,  ran  past  this  curious  thing,  and  away  gaily 
northwards.  Five  minutes  later,  as  I  was  following 
down,  the  course  of  the  brook,  I  stopped  to  listen  to  the 
murmur  of  the  war-whistles,  which  boomed  from  all 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  195 

round  me  loudly,  as  though  there  were  an  orchestra  of 
them  playing  a  concert  for  me.  I  caught  sight  of  some- 
thing in  the  grass,  a  block  of  iron-bearing  earth  of  a 
dull  rusty  colour.  A  few  steps  further  on  the  wood 
ceased  al3ruptly,  and  there  was  an  outcrop  of  iron, 
blasted  pretty  badly  by  repeated  lightnings.  It  ran 
on  level  for  a  few  yards,  and  then  dipped  sharply  down 
into  a  valley  that  was  like  a  natural  theatre.  One 
glance  into  the  crater  from  the  rocks  on  its  upper  brim 
showed  me  that  it  was  the  place  of  my  dream,  the  place 
to  which  I  had  been  so  strangely  directed  through  so 
long  a  time. 

I  slid  do\vn  the  side  of  the  crater  (it  was  as  like  that 
as  anything  else),  over  broken  reddish  stones  and  rub- 
bish, into  the  flat  part  where  I  had  stood  in  my  vision. 
Still,  I  could  not  understand  the  loneliness  of  the  place. 
There  was  neither  man  there  nor  recent  trace  of  man. 
There  in  the  centre  stood  the  cone  of  iron-rock,  carved 
grotesquely  into  the  likeness  of  a  man's  head.  It  had 
stood  there  perhaps  for  centuries  and  centuries.  I 
seized  the  protruding  tongue  and  thrust  it  back  into 
the  mouth.  Something  grated  and  clicked  below  me, 
a  slab  of  rock  shook  and  swTing  aside,  leaving  in  front 
of  me  an  oblong  opening  in  the  earth,  with  stairs  lead- 
ing downwards  in  a  gentle  decline.  They  were  stone 
stairs,  carved  at  the  sides  with  symbols.  All  down  that 
carven  staircase,  ranged  in  order,  were  war-whistles, 
fed  by  some  perpetual  spring.  The  jet  leaped  into 
one  jar  and  filled  it,  making  it  cry  aloud.  Then  the 
filled  jar  ceasing  to  cry,  emptied  itself  by  the  weight 


196  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

of  water  within  it  into  the  second  jar,  so  that  there  was 
always  a  droning,  booming,  whistling  noise  there,  and 
will  be,  I  suppose,  always,  till  the  simple  mechanism  is 
checked  or  broken.  I  do  not  know  how  these  things 
are  done.  They  are  arranged  quite  simply,  so  an  In- 
dian told  me,  by  a  regulation  of  the  weight  of  water  re- 
quired to  force  round  a  stone  revolving  in  a  pipe. 


XVI 

When  that  temple  was  laid  bare  before  me  I  did 
not  think  of  the  secrets  of  the  water-pots.  I  thought 
only  of  what  lay  beyond,  down  in  the  dimness  there, 
in  the  open  space  of  the  floor.  The  floor  sloped  down 
between  an  array  of  carven  figures,  kings  and  queens 
of  the  dead,  who  stood  on  each  side  solemn  as  Egyptian 
figures,  grander  than  living  figures,  with  brows  crushed 
back  and  lips  protruding  and  their  tongues  transfixed 
by  briers.  There  was  a  glimmer  upon  all  these  carv- 
ings. They  were  hung  with  golden  plaques  made  of 
the  very  soft  pure  gold,  which  can  be  bent  by  the  fin- 
gers. There  was  more  gold  there  on  those  carvings 
than  any  man  has  seen  at  one  time  since  Cortes  saw 
the  Mexican  treasure,  or  Pizarro  the  ransom  of  Ata- 
hualpa.  There  was  gold  enough  there  to  build  a  navy. 
It  glinted  all  down  the  temple,  a  marvel  of  gold-work- 
er's art,  the  worth  of  a  kingdom. 

I  waited,  there  in  the  temple,  for  some  one  to  ap- 
pear ;  but  no  one  came.     The  water  gurgled  and  droned 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  197 

in  the  rhythm  subtly  arranged.  I  kept  telling  myself 
that  there  were  voices  speaking  among  the  noise  of  the 
water;  but  there  were  no  voices,  only  water  falling 
and  trickling  and  collapsing,  and  a  piping  note  waver- 
ing and  tolling.  No  one  was  there.  I  was  alone  in  the 
temple. 

I  stood  upon  the  lowest  step  of  the  stairway,  and 
called  aloud  thrice  in  Sotek  to  say  that  I  had  arrived; 
but  no  one  answered.  My  voice  went  booming  about 
among  underground  hollows,  making  queer  noises  which 
startled  me.  I  waited,  looking  about  me,  straining  to 
pierce  the  gloom  beyond ;  but  seeing  nothing  except  the 
ranged  jars  and  the  array  of  kings,  stretching  down  into 
darkness.  I  said  to  myself  that  all  this  silence  was  pre- 
arranged to  try  me,  and  that  it  was  nothing,  and  that 
whatever  happened  I  was  not  to  show  alarm.  I  waited 
for  some  time  longer,  and  then,  with  my  machete  in 
my  hand,  I  advanced  into  the  gloom,  rather  glad  that 
I  had  the  good  sunlight  behind  me  in  case  I  wished  to 
run  away. 

I  had  not  gone  more  than  a  few  steps  into  the  dark- 
ness when  my  foot  struck  something  which  had  a  hu- 
man feel.  I  pulled  it  out  into  the  light.  It  was  the 
skeleton  of  an  Indian,  or  of  some  one  of  some  kindred 
stock,  for  the  brow  had  been  flattened  artificially.  It 
was  lying  on  a  vestment  of  painted  linen.  A  sacrificial 
knife,  studded  with  turquoises,  was  slung  about  his 
neck  by  a  gold  chain.  The  bones  had  been  gnawed  by 
rats  a  good  deal.  It  gave  me  a  shock  to  find  this  skel- 
eton in  the  temple.     I  could  not  understand  its  pres- 


198  LOST  ENDEAVOUE 

ence  there.  It  did  not  frighten  me.  Why  should  it? 
I  am  like  that  myself  inside  this  flesh.  But  it  puzzled 
me  a  good  deal.  I  was  puzzled  still  more  when  I 
found  further  on  other  skeletons  lying  in  disorder  all 
along  the  temple,  away  from  the  light.  Then  it 
dawned  on  me  that  the  temple  was  a  royal  mausoleum, 
and  that  here  were  the  bones  of  all  the  Sotek  kings,  and 
that  I  had  been  sent  thither  so  that  I  might  meditate 
upon  mortality  before  coming  to  the  throne. 

"  If  that  is  so,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  I  will  meditate ; 
but  I  do  not  understand  this  disorder,  nor  why  I  should 
have  been  left  alone  to  find  this  all  out  by  myself." 

I  think  I  should  have  been  quite  at  ease  had  I  not 
found  other  things  among  the  skeletons.  The  bones  of 
rats.     They  set  me  thinking. 

For,  when  I  was  in  Jamaica  during  the  plague,  I 
noticed  that  the  rats  came  from  their  holes  and  ran 
without  fear  (having  the  infection  on  them),  and 
dropped  dead  even  in  crowded  rooms  or  in  churches. 
When  I  found  the  skeletons  of  rats  among  these  kings, 
and  remembered  this,  I  could  not  help  thinking.  I  be- 
gan to  get  uneasy.  It  came  into  my  mind  that  all  these 
skeletons  wore  priestly  tokens  —  symbols,  or  sacrificial 
knives,  or  the  golden  brier  of  maceration  —  never 
kingly  tokens,  such  as  crowns,  or  sceptres,  or  swords. 
It  was  easy  to  say  that  priests  would  be  likely  to  value 
their  kings  rather  as  defenders  of  the  faith  than  as  rul- 
ers or  soldiers ;  but  the  thought  began  to  grow  upon  me 
that  there  had  been  a  pestilence,  and  that  the  priests 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  199 

had  died,  there  in  the  holy  place,  and  that  these  were 
their  skeletons. 

"  Corruption,"  I  said  to  myself.  "  It  is  impossible. 
The  air  is  sweet  here,  and  besides,  the  natives  on  the 
mainland  would  know  if  there  had  been  a  pesti- 
lence." 

But  I  knew  all  the  time  that  it  was  not  impossible. 
The  ants,  which  were  everywhere,  would  soon  cleanse 
the  bones  of  a  body.  The  temple  drew  air  from  other 
sources  than  the  door;  while,  as  for  the  natives,  it 
was  probable  that  they  never  came  near  the  place,  ex- 
cept to  land  their  kings  and  novitiate  priests.  They 
may  go  there  for  great  religious  festivals ;  but  about  this 
I  am  not  sure.  It  was  when  I  remembered  the  dead 
guard  by  the  boathouse  that  doubt  became  certainty. 
I  went  up  the  steps  into  the  light,  saying  that  pestilence 
had  fallen  on  the  island,  and  that  the  priests  had  been 
destroyed  by  it.  As  I  went  up  the  steps  I  had  a  fancy 
(perhaps  it  was  more  of  a  hope  than  a  fancy)  that  when 
I  came  out  into  the  light  I  should  find  the  amphitheatre 
full  of  people,  waiting  there  for  me  to  welcome  me; 
but  no,  no  one  was  there.  It  was  just  as  it  had  been. 
There  were  the  trees,  the  wind-ruffled  trees,  and  the 
surf  going  over  the  reefs.  All  else  was  still,  still  as 
Nature  can  be.  The  droning  of  the  pipes  only  seemed 
to  make  it  more  still.  Suspicion  came  to  me  then  that 
perhaps  I  was  alone  on  the  island.  The  guards  and 
priests  were  perhaps  all  dead  of  plague.  I  was  per- 
haps the  only  living  human  being  within  half  a  degree. 


200  LOST  e:n'deavour 


XVII 


I  am  not  going  to  worry  you  with  my  sensations. 
They  were  ugly.  Before  I  gave  way  to  them  alto- 
gether I  cut  and  lit  some  torehwood,  and  stuck  great 
blazing  brands  of  it  all  down  the  temple.  I  wanted 
to  find  out  if  anybody  were  still  alive  there.  What  I 
saw  left  me  no  doubt  that  the  college  of  priests  had  been 
extirpated.  Even  the  cells  where  the  priests  had 
worked  were  full  of  death.  One  body  lay  bowed  over 
a  roll  of  painted  cloth.  His  brush  was  still  in  his 
hand.  He  had  died,  as  I  could  read,  while  describ- 
ing in  hieroglyphs  the  progress  of  the  plague  among 
the  priests.  There,  by  his  side,  were  little  terra-cotta 
pots  of  pigments,  intensely  bright,  and  a  list  of  the 
priests,  half  of  them  ticked  off  with  the  death  symbol. 
It  was  frightful;  but  the  pathos  of  it  moved  me  more 
than  the  fright.  There  were  great  rolls  of  painted 
cloth  in  the  cell  there.  It  had  been  the  scriptorium. 
The  rolls  of  cloth  contained  the  secrets  of  the  higher 
ritual,  which  now,  as  I  supposed,  would  never  be  prac- 
tised on  earth  again. 

I  got  out  of  that  house  of  death,  and  sat  down  in 
the  sun  to  think.  Plainly  my  scheme  of  becoming 
King  of  Mexico,  in  fulfilment  of  the  prophecy,  would 
have  to  be  abandoned,  unless  I  could  see  Kicolai  and 
concert  a  plan.  And  how  could  I  see  Kicolai  ?  Prob- 
ably everybody  in  the  island  was  dead;  and  how  was 
I  to  get  to  the  mainland  ?  And  even  if  I  were  to  reach 
the  mainland,  how  could  I  find  Nicolai  ?     Probably  he 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  201 

had  gone  "back  to  the  temple  at  Toatlan,  to  wait  till 
I  came,  in  the  care  of  the  high  priests,  to  be  anointed 
and  crowned.  And  how  could  I  get  to  Toatlan,  five 
hundred  miles  away?  If  I  went  ashore  (I  thought) 
unaccompanied  by  the  high  priests,  it  might  be  said  that 
I  was  rejected  by  them,  and  then  a  dig  with  a  bone 
spear  would  very  quickly  end  me.  And  even  if  I 
were  to  reach  Toatlan,  then  that  old  schemer  !N^icolai 
might  make  me  king  by  fraud.  I  was  willing  enough 
to  be  king,  provided  that  I  had  qualified  myself  be- 
fore the  chosen  brains  of  the  race;  but  to  be  king  by 
the  wiles  of  that  old  fox  was  unfitting  and  distasteful 
to  me. 

The  more  I  thought  the  less  clear  the  issues  seemed. 
And  sitting  there  in  the  sun  gave  me  a  headache,  so 
that  I  had  to  plunge  into  the  sea.  The  place  began 
to  seem  so  unreal  to  me  that  I  doubted  whether  the 
shock  of  cold  water  would  not  wake  me.  It  was  all 
dream-like  and  strange,  all  this  gold,  and  the  chance 
of  the  kingdom,  and  O'Neill.  O'Neill  must  have  been 
a  fine  man.  He  had  looked  on  all  that  gold  and  spurned 
it,  respecting  the  faith  which  put  it  there.  He  had 
gone  from  its  presence  to  the  society  of  pirates,  and 
never  once  mentioned  it  to  them.  He  had  been  con- 
tent to  have  seen  it,  and  to  have  copied  the  s}Tnbols  on 
the  walls  above  it,  s\^nbols  which  he  did  not  even  un- 
derstand. He  had  been  the  guest  of  the  priests,  and 
had  had  the  strength  to  respect  that  bond  between  them. 
I  admired  that  reverence.  It  was  like  an  Irishman 
to  have  done  that.     A  word  to  his  captain  would  have 


202  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

made  him  a  rich  man.  What  could  the  guards  have 
done  against  white  men  with  g-uns  ?  But  he  had  never 
spoken  that  word.  He  had  gone  away  when  the  ship 
sailed,  and  had  died  soon  afterwards,  despised  probably 
by  his  shipmates  for  poring  over  symbols  and  Indian 
rubbish  instead  of  getting  drunk  on  cana. 


XVIII 

As  I  walked  to  the  beach  from  which  I  started  I 
called  repeatedly,  hoping  that  some  one  would  reply. 
JSTobody  answered  me.  It  was  evident  truth  that  the 
island  had  been  smitten  by  the  plague,  and  that  every 
human  soul  was  dead.  I  was  alone  there  with  their 
bones,  and  might  be  alone  there,  for  all  I  knew,  till 
my  bones  lay  with  theirs.  I  told  myself  that  only  one 
white  man's  ship  had  ever  been  there  in  the  past,  and 
that  no  other  would  ever  come  to  take  me  away.  I 
kept  repeating  this,  I  remember,  as  my  head  grew 
worse;  for  to  tell  the  truth  I  was  sickening  for  the 
plague.  I  remember  saying  too  that  what  I  wanted 
was  a  ship  to  take  me  to  Nicolai.  The  fever  was  gain- 
ing on  me,  and  as  I  became  light  in  my  head  I  felt 
the  need  of  some  one  by  me  to  look  after  me.  iNicolai 
had  looked  after  me.  He  was  in  my  head  continually. 
I  remember  getting  to  the  beach,  calling  out  for  l^icolai, 
and  trying  to  undress  for  a  bathe.  After  that  it  is  very 
misty  and  fiery,  with  comings  and  goings  and  noises 
distinct  and  indistinct. 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STOKY  203 

A  ship  happened  to  put  in  there,  I  suppose  two 
days  later,  when  I  had  passed  the  worst  of  it.  She 
was  in  search  of  turtle.  I  was  lying  on  the  beach, 
with  a  ring  of  vultures  round  me  waiting  for  me  to 
die.  Every  now  and  then  one  of  them  would  hobble 
a  few  steps  towards  me,  and  I  would  move  or  shift, 
and  then  he  would  go  back  again.  But  of  all  this  I 
knew  nothing  whatever.  What  was  wrong  with  me, 
so  they  told  me  afterwards,  was  not  the  plague;  but  it 
was  yellow  fever.  My  face  was  the  colour  of  a  canary. 
The  men  didn't  mind  yellow  fever.  They  had  seen 
enough  of  it  to  know  that  it  isn't  caught  by  man  from 
man,  so  they  dropped  me  into  a  boat  and  took  me  to  the 
ship.  They  put  to  sea  after  that.  And  by-and-by  I 
got  better. 

By-and-by  I  got  better.  By  the  time  the  ship  was 
up  with  Cape  Catoche  I  was  about  again.  And  when 
I  knew  that  they  were  only  smugglers,  bound  to  smug- 
gle goods  into  Virginia,  I  thought  that  —  well,  I 
thought  a  foolish  thing.  I  thought  that  perhaps  their 
Captain  Pointer  would  turn  to  the  Lagoon  of  Tides,  so 
that  I  might  talk  with  JSTicolai.  When  I  asked  this 
privately  of  Captain  Pointer,  he  wanted  to  know  why 
I  was  so  anxious  to  get  to  Campeachy  instead  of  com- 
ing on  with  him  as  his  navigator.  That  was  natural 
enough.  He  had  saved  my  life  and  given  me  a  pas- 
sage, and  he  had  a  right  to  know.  But  I  was  a  mys- 
terious person.  I  had  been  discovered  by  chance  upon 
the  beach  of  an  uninhabited  island.  I  had  been  dressed 
in  outlandish  clothes,   and  outlandish  gear  had  been 


204  LOST  EIs^DEAVOUK 

found  upon  me,  books  of  pictures  and  Indian  writing. 
He  wanted  to  know  more  than  I  cared  to  tell. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Captain  Pointer.  "  You  want  to 
go  to  Campeacliy  ?  I  don't  want  to  pry  into  what  isn't 
my  affair,  but  what  were  you  doing  on  that  island  ?  " 

"  Studying  Indian  antiquities,"  I  said. 

"  And  what  do  you  want  to  go  to  the  lagoon  for  ?  " 

"  To  see  a  friend." 

"A  native?" 

"  Yes." 

Of  course  the  friend  was  a  native.  "No  white  people 
live  at  the  lagoon.  They  stay  there  to  cut  wood,  and 
then  load  it  and  go. 

"  You  must  be  powerful  fond  of  natives,"  he  said, 
"  to  want  to  go  seven  hundred  miles  to  see  one.  What 
do  you  want  to  see  him  about  ?  " 

I  have  always  held  that  entire  frankness  is  a  good 
thing.  If  you  take  a  man  entirely  into  your  confi- 
dence he  must  be  more  than  base  to  betray  you.  It  is 
the  highest  compliment  that  you  can  pay  to  him.  But 
being  frank  and  betraying  a  secret  are  different  mat- 
ters. I  had  no  right  to  betray  my  secret;  and  to  tell 
the  truth,  Captain  Pointer,  being  something  between  a 
pirate  and  a  smuggler,  was  by  no  means  the  man  for 
honest  dealings.  I  did  not  think  of  him  with  any  pleas- 
ure as  my  confidant. 

"  Important  business,"  I  said. 

"  Money  in  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Perhaps,"  I  answered.  "  I  am  not  sure.  That  is 
why  I  want  to  see  him." 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  205 

"  Say,"  he  said,  harking  back  to  the  old  scent,  "  what 
antiquities  were  you  after  in  that  island  ?  Is  it  in  the 
island,  this  business  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Ko.     In  Mexico,"  I  answered.     "  In  Chiapas." 

"  I  see,"  he  said.  "  What  do  I  get  for  my  trouble 
in  case  I  take  you  to  Campeachy?  Am  I  to  share  in 
the  business,  or  am  I  to  be  paid  ? " 

Now  I  knew  that  Nicolai  could  get  gold  dust  literally 
by  the  bucketful  just  for  the  asking  —  the  Indians  value 
it  less  than  coin.  So  I  said  that  I  could  not  let  him 
share  in  the  business,  nor  hear  of  it;  but  that  if  he 
took  me  to  the  lagoon,  and  if  when  there  I  found  my 
friend,  who  might  of  course  be  dead  or  absent  from 
home  when  the  ship  arrived,  I  would  gTiarantee  him  ten 
pounds'  weight  of  gold,  or  that  failing,  engage  to  serve 
him  as  a  navigator  for  a  year  without  pay. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  As  you  say  yourself,  your  friend 
might  be  dead  or  absent,  and  then  I  wouldn't  get  the 
gold-dust.  I  could  do  without  your  navigation  all 
right.  But  I  couldn't  do  without  the  gold.  No;  it's 
not  good  enough  business.  Tell  me  what  your  busi- 
ness is,  and  promise  me  a  share  in  it  —  I  know  it's 
pretty  good,  or  you  wouldn't  be  so  anxious  about  it  — 
and  perhaps  I'll  go  out  of  my  course,  if  I  think  it's 
worth  my  while.  Otherwise  you're  just  a  beach- 
comber, to  whom  I'm  giving  a  passage  in  exchange  for 
services.  You've  told  me  that  you've  got  no  money, 
so  I'm  letting  you  work  your  way.  Well,  I'm  a  coast- 
runner,  with  a  cargo  to  put  ashore  in  Virginia.  Treat 
me  as  a  friend,  and  I'll  be  a  friend.     Treat  me  as  an 


206  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

ordinary  captain,  whom  you're  afraid  to  trust,  and  I'll 
be  that.  It's  purely  a  business  question  between  us  if 
you  aren't  going  to  tell  me  more." 


XIX 

I  could  see  that  the  mystery  had  excited  him.  I 
could  see  the  workings  of  his  mind.  Here  was  I,  sud- 
denly discovered  alone  on  one  of  the  Bay  Islands. 
What  was  I  doing  there?  'Now,  a  week  or  two  later, 
I  was  feverishly  anxious  to  see  an  Indian  in  Chiapas. 
What  did  I  want  with  him,  and  what  connection  was 
there  between  the  Indian  and  the  island?  Eor  a  mo- 
ment, I  hesitated.  I  very  nearly  told  him  something  of 
the  secret,  then  I  decided  that  I  could  not. 

"  No,  captain,"  I  said.  "  It's  not  my  secret.  I  can't 
tell  you  what  it  is.  And,  until  I  see  my  friend,  I  can't 
even  tell  you  whether  there  is  money  in  it." 

"  All  right,"  he  grunted.  "  Then  we  go  on  to  Vir- 
ginia." He  waited  for  some  while,  and  then  asked  me 
rather  slyly  how  I  had  come  to  the  island,  and  what  the 
antiquities  were  like. 

"  I  went  there  from  Sula,"  I  said.  "  The  Indians 
took  me  across  in  a  big  canoe.  I  have  been  studying  the 
Indians  for  some  time  now.  As  for  the  antiquities, 
there  are  a  lot  of  old  war-whistles,  a  lot  of  skeletons, 
and  a  stone  altar  with  niches  in  it." 

"  And  nobody  living  there  ?  " 

"  No ;  they  are  all  dead.  The  island  has  been  at- 
tacked by  the  plague,  I  think." 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STOEY  207 

"  And  your  Sula  Indians  ?  Didn't  they  stay  ?  How 
came  it  that  they  left  you  alone  there  ?  " 

"  The  island  was  uncanny  to  them.  They  were  super- 
stitious about  it.     You  know  what  Indians  are." 

"  And  how  were  you  going  to  get  back  to  Sula  ?  " 

"  I  expected  to  be  put  ashore  there  by  the  islanders." 

"  Free  of  charge  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head,  unconvinced.  "  None  of  my 
business,"  he  said.  "  But  I  don't  think  you're  being 
frank  with  me.  I've  treated  you  above  board,  and 
none  of  your  things  has  been  so  much  as  touched  by 
any  man  here.  But  there's  something  hidden."  He 
went  on  deck,  evidently  hurt.  After  that  he  treated 
me  coldly. 

"When  we  lay  at  Charleston,  selling  our  contraband, 
the  Marie  Galante  lay  at  anchor  near  a  turtler.  Cap- 
tain Pointer  made  friends  with  some  young  men  aboard 
her.  They  came  aboard  to  dine  with  him.  During 
dinner,  as  they  became  drunk,  they  asked  me  many 
questions  about  the  Indians,  which  I  answered  with- 
out betraying  myself.  I  thought  them  very  rude  and 
tactless,  but  this  I  put  do^vn  to  their  parentage,  and 
to  the  punch.  Thinking  it  over  now,  when  it  is  all 
rather  dim,  I  believe  that  I  had  some  half  plan  of  con- 
fidence in  Captain  Pointer.  Perhaps,  even  had  I  done 
so,  the  end  would  have  been  the  same. 

I  noticed  that  after  this  dinner  the  man  was  more 
polite  to  me.  I  put  it  down  to  a  desire  to  make  up 
for  the  rudeness  of  his  drunken  guests.     We  cruised 


208  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

north  along  the  coast,  putting  our  contraband  ashore. 
Lastly,  after  a  successful  cruise,  we  put  into  a  creek 
in  Accomac,  where  we  opened  a  market  among  the 
farmers.  We  were  short  of  meat  in  the  Marie  Galante. 
So,  after  putting  a  lot  of  goods  ashore,  Captain  Pointer 
asked  me  if  I  would  go  cattle-hunting  with  some  of  the 
hands  who  had  been  buccaneers.  I  wanted  to  run 
ashore.     I  went. 

You  will  say,  "  Oh,  but  you  must  have  been  mad  to 
go  away  from  the  ship,  leaving  your  papers  behind 
you."  It  was  foolish.  But,  remember,  I  had  been 
very  ill ;  so  ill  that  my  ambitions  were  dulled  in  me. 
I  do  not  think  that  I  was  excited  about  the  island,  nor 
really  eager  to  go  to  Nicolai.  It  was  all  a  little  blurred 
and  unreal.  I  had  not  made  up  my  mind  whether  to 
go  on  with  the  scheme,  or  to  let  it  fall  and  start  an- 
other. I  wanted  to  rest  awhile.  Fever  is  like  that. 
It  kills  your  energy  for  a  time.  It  kills  your  power 
of  decision.  And  then,  I  had  no  living  distrust  of 
Captain  Pointer.  I  did  not  think  that  he  would  rum- 
mage my  chest.  I  do  not  think  even  now  that  he  was 
that  kind  of  man,  unless  inflamed  by  drink  or  com- 
pany. I  suppose  that  it  was  one  of  those  young  men, 
putting  together  my  ravings  about  gold,  the  mysterious 
rhyme  on  the  map,  and  perhaps  some  Indian  legend, 
who  moved  Pointer  to  his  action.  There.  It  cannot 
matter  now.  While  I  was  ashore,  Pointer  received 
some  final  prompting.  Whatever  it  may  have  been,  he 
decided  that  he  would  go  to  the  island  with  his  new 
friends.     The  rest  you  know.     And  you  know,   too, 


LITTLE  THEO'S  STORY  209 

how  a  man  will  care  little  for  a  thing  till  something 
threatens  it  or  robs  him  of  it,  and  how  then  he  will 
risk  his  life  to  save  it.  It  was  like  that  with  me,  then. 
I  wanted  to  save  that  island.  It  was  a  sacred  island. 
One  would  save  anything  sacred  from  human  brutes. 
And  then,  the  threat  stirred  the  longings  in  me.  .  .  . 
Old  Nicolai  and  the  religion  and  the  kingdom.  It 
might  be,  I  thought.  I  might  be  king  there.  It  was 
not  a  dream.  I  might  do  what  the  Spaniards  never 
did.  .  .  . 


THE  END  OF  LITTLE  THBO  S  STOUT 


PAET  THIRD 
CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY 


PAET  THIRD 
CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY 

{Continued  from  page  102) 


I  LEFT  off,  as  it  were,  with  my  hand  on  the  sheer- 
pole.  At  that  instant  the  trouble  began. 
Just  as  I  stood  in  the  chains,  about  to  spring 
aloft,  I  heard  a  crackling  and  trampling  in  the  scrubby 
wood  ashore.  The  hands  were  just  then  beginning  to 
strain  about  the  capstan,  tautening  our  warp ;  I  could 
see  them  all  breasting  the  capstan  bars,  heaving  hard, 
so  that  a  ripple  of  way  came  brokenly  from  the  bows. 
Far  up  the  creek,  under  the  clump  of  red  cedars  to 
which  the  warp  was  taken,  three  or  four  hands  were 
putting  off  to  us  in  the  boat.  Up  aloft  above  me  the 
top-gallant  sails,  set  as  course  and  topsail,  showed  ab- 
surdly. There  came  a  hail  from  the  landward,  and 
then  a  storm  of  shouting,  and  the  noise  of  horses  gal- 
loping in  scrub.  Looking  round,  I  saw  a  posse  of 
planters  galloping  hard  dovni  to  the  shallows  abreast 
of  us. 

"  Ship   ahoy !  "   came   the  hail.     "  Surrender,    and 
come  ashore." 

213 


214  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

"  Heave/'  cried  Little  Theo  to  the  men  at  the  cap- 
stan. "  Heave.  Up  aloft,  you  boy.  Aloft.  To  the 
cross-trees  with  you." 

A  man  at  the  capstan  cried  out :  "  Heave,  boys. 
Oh,  heave.  Heave  and  start  her.  Heave  and  break 
your  backs."  The  men  cried  out,  rallying  each  other, 
the  bow-wash  began  to  cream,  the  warp  grunted  and 
crackled.  I  saw  the  oarsmen  in  the  boat  stand  off  from 
the  shore,  pulling  hard,  so  as  to  put  the  ship  between 
them  and  the  posse.  "  Heave,"  cried  Little  Theo. 
"  Heave,  and  she  goes." 

"  Surrender.  Do  you  hear  ?  Surrender,  or  we 
fire,"  the  planters  shouted. 

"  What's  the  matter  ? "  Dick  shouted  to  them. 
"  Why  should  we  surrender  ?  " 

"  Smuggling's  the  matter,"  they  answered.  "  Cease 
heaving  on  that  warp.     Stop,  or  we  fire." 

"  Up  with  you,  boy,"  said  Dick,  advancing  a  step 
or  two  towards  me.  "  Up.  Heave  ahead,  forward 
there." 

"  Come  ashore,  you  in  the  boat,"  a  voice  cried. 

"  Fire,"  cried  some  one  else.  I  glanced  down,  and 
there  was  Theo  fingering  his  pistols.  I  had  a  feeling 
that  I  had  only  a  second  more  to  live.  A  quick  fear 
startled  me;  I  bounded  swiftly  up  two  ratlines;  and 
then,  just  as  a  gun  went  off  with  a  crack  from  some- 
where behind  me,  I  lost  my  footing  on  the  ratlines, 
clutched  at  something  and  missed,  and  tumbled  back- 
wards into  the  creek. 

I  seemed  to  be  a  long  time  falling.     I  hit  the  water 


CHAKLES  HARDING'S  STORY         215 

a  flattening  slap,  went  do\vn,  rose,  took  a  mouthful, 
and  struck  out.  I  heard  no  particular  noise  during 
my  eclipse  —  no  noise,  that  is,  which  I  could  rightly 
distinguish;  but  when  I  rose  there  was  the  shore  in  a 
swathe  of  powder-smoke.  They  had  fired  a  volley. 
One  or  two  men  were  racing  up  the  creek  to  fire  at  the 
boat,  which,  as  I  could  plainly  hear,  was  pulling  hard, 
amid  cries  and  the  dry  grunting  of  the  rowlocks.  The 
men  in  the  Marie  Galante  were  singing  now  some  old, 
sweet,  noisy  chorus  of  the  sea,  about  being  bound  to 
Rio.  A  gun  or  two  crackled  among  the  smoke.  I 
heard  the  bullets  "  pobbing  "  into  the  wood  of  the  ship. 
"  Come  back,  you,"  Little  Theo  shouted  to  me. 
"  Catch  this  rope."  But  the  rope  fell  short.  I  couldn't 
get  to  it.  There  came  a  thundering  volley  over  my 
head.  Somebody  flung  a  handful  of  earth  at  me,  the 
water  spattered  up  in  little  jets.  I  heard  Dick's  voice 
shout  "  Heave,"  a  shout  of  "  Stand  clear,"  cries  of 
"Fire  again,"  "Shoot  higher,"  "That's  got  them." 
Then  quite  clearly  and  plainly,  in  a  lull,  as  I  swam, 
I  heard  a  quiet  voice  say,  "  Ride  to  Myngs'  Creek. 
The  frigate's  there.  She'll  catch  them  as  sure  as 
eggs."  "  Fire,"  said  some  one  else  again.  The  smoke 
rolled  all  round  me.  Recollect  that  I  was  swimming 
hard,  swimming  like  a  man  in  a  nightmare,  through  a 
sea  which  seemed  to  be  made  of  blankets.  I  was  so  ex- 
cited that  my  strokes  were  probably  short  and  wild,  and 
I  kept  dropping  my  feet  to  see  if  I  could  touch  ground. 
I  suppose  I  had  been  in  the  water  some  seventy  or 
eighty  seconds  when  my  foot  found  bottom.     I  strained 


216  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

forward,  throwing  up  my  hands.  I  was  groping  for- 
ward on  hard  ground,  within  a  dozen  yards  of  the 
shore;  but  all  whelmed  in  the  stinking  powder  smoke, 
full  of  hot  smuts  from  the  wads.  A  hand  suddenly 
settled  on  the  back  of  my  neck.  "  Give  us  your  arm," 
said  Dick's  voice,  amid  a  swirl  of  water.  "  Back  you 
come.  Heave."  He  was  clutching  a  loose  line  of 
something,  the  end  of  the  main  buntlines  probably.  Di- 
rectly he  cried  out  to  heave,  the  hands  aboard  hauled  in 
on  it. 

"  You  young  cub,"  said  Dick  good-humouredly, 
blowing  the  water  from  his  mouth,  "  I'll  cut  your  liver 
out  with  a  file.  Heave  in,  you  jokers.  Heave."  It 
was  evident  that  the  ship  was  now  moving  fast  through 
the  water.  She  was  dragging  us  astern  of  her.  Guns 
cracked  and  banged  behind  us.  On  deck,  when  I  got 
there,  it  seemed  just  as  it  had  been  before,  and  that 
was  strange,  for  I  had  passed  through  so  much  in  those 
few  minutes.  There  was  one  difference  —  Benito  lay 
dead  by  the  main  hatchway,  shot  through  the  heart; 
a  little  silver  crucifix  lay  beside  him,  cut  from  its  beads 
by  the  shot  which  killed  him.  I  cannot  say  that  I  was 
moved  by  the  sight  of  that  poor  body.  I  had  seen  too 
much  fighting  since  the  day  before  to  be  startled  by  a 
corpse,  yet  the  crucifijx  lying  there  touched  me  to  the 
quick. 

"  Cut  the  cable,"  shouted  Dick.  "  I'll  take  her  out 
under  sail.  Keep  her  as  near  as  you  can,  Cap."  Theo 
was  at  the  helm.  "  Up  now,"  said  Dick  to  me.  "  Try 
to  get  away  again,  and  I'll  take  you  and  hang  you.     If 


CHAELES  HAEDIN'G'S  STORY         217 

youVe  given  my  wound  cold,  I'll  give  you  a  dozen  with 
a  Gosport  cat.     Up  aloft  with  you." 

I  went  up  to  the  cross-trees,  shivering  in  my  drip- 
ping wet  clothes;  and  from  the  cross-trees  I  watched 
the  water  ahead,  changing  to  yellowy  paleness  and  some- 
times breaking.  The  posse  had  galloped  forward  to 
the  bluff  among  the  cedars,  hoping  that  we  should  be 
unable  to  pass  through  the  creek  mouth  unhelped  by 
our  warp,  which  was  now  cut,  both  by  them  and  by 
ourselves.  We  were  forging  slowly  forward  now,  close- 
hauled,  about  two  hundred  yards  from  the  shore,  and 
standing  further  away  from  it,  so  as  to  make  the  open- 
ing out  of  range  of  their  guns.  A  man  in  the  top  below 
me  cried  out  from  time  to  time  to  Dick  to  alter  his 
course,  so  as  to  avoid  a  rock. 


II 

You  might  think  that  it  was  as  exciting  as  a  play 
to  sit  up  there  in  the  bright  sun  watching  it  all,  know- 
ing that  I  was  escaping  from  slavery.  There  was  the 
mouth  of  the  creek,  three  hundred  yards  across.  There 
to  the  right  was  the  bluff,  with  the  posse  of  armed 
men  off  their  horses,  crouched  among  the  sumach-bushes, 
or  behind  boulders;  while  the  horses  shook  their  heads 
and  jingled  among  the  trees  at  their  backs.  But  I  saw 
that  if  the  wind,  which  was  coming  light  and  gusty, 
should  fail,  we  should  go  ashore  on  the  rocks  below 
the  bluff.     Then  there  would  be  a  fight,  and  some  would 


218  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

be  shot,  and  others  drowned,  and  I,  if  I  escaped  death, 
should  go  back  to  be  a  slave.  If  the  wind  held,  then 
we  might  pass  out  to  sea ;  but  even  so  I  should  be  a 
pirate  and  a  smuggler.  And  the  frigate  (I  remem- 
bered so  clearly  what  they  had  said  about  the  frigate) 
would  sail  down  and  catch  us,  and  I  should  perhaps  be 
hanged  as  a  pirate  at  the  yardarm.  There  was  no  ex- 
citement for  me  in  the  matter:  only  a  dull,  dead,  sick 
feeling,  and  a  sort  of  fascination,  such  as  they  say  those 
caught  by  a  boa  feel  in  the  instant  before  the  folds 
crush  round,  smashing  out  the  life.  We  were  mov- 
ing very  slowly,  remember.  We  had  only  those  light 
top-gallant  sails  set,  and  they  were  barely  enough  to 
make  us  crawl.  There  came  a  noise  behind  me,  which 
made  me  look  round.  The  hands  below  had  found  an 
old  poop-awning,  which  they  were  setting  on  the  main- 
yard.  It  made  a  most  queer-looking  sail,  for  it  had 
the  sheets  knotted  to  its  corners,  and  a  gap  in  the  centre 
where  the  gTiy  should  have  been.  But  crude  as  the 
sail  was  it  made  a  difference  to  us.  It  gave  us  at  least 
half  a  knot  more  (as  I  could  plainly  see  and  feel)  when 
they  got  the  sheet  aft  and  the  tack  boarded.  Then 
the  wind  drooped,  the  sails  slatted  once  or  twice  and 
drooped  too.  We  began  to  drift  ashore  very  slowly 
and  idly,  broadside  on,  with  our  sails  lifting  lazily, 
and  falling  back  again.  My  heart  leaped  at  this.  I 
thought  that  the  pirates  would  surrender,  because  in  a 
minute  or  two  we  should  be  on  the  rocks,  piled  up,  per- 
haps lying  on  our  side,  so  that  the  posse  could  pick  us 
off  one  by  one  if  surrender  were  not  made. 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         219 

The  men  ashore  thought  that  this  would  happen. 
One  or  two  of  them  galloped  round  the  creek  to  take  up 
positions  on  the  other  side.  Some  crept  down  under 
cover,  so  as  to  be  nearer  to  us  if  we  struck.  Up  there 
on  the  cross-trees  I  could  feel  the  ship  slowly  sagging 
away  towards  the  rocks.  I  could  even  pick  out  the 
pale  patch  of  water  which  hid  the  rock  on  which  she 
would  strike.  It  was  a  big,  irregular  rock,  shaped 
roughly  like  a  V  with  the  apex  towards  us.  It  oc- 
curred to  me  when  I  saw  this  rock  that  we  should  strike 
with  great  force  —  not  once,  nor  twice,  but  half  a 
dozen  times,  with  pounding  jolts  which  would  fling  the 
masts  out  of  her.  I  realised  in  a  dim  sort  of  way 
that  up  aloft  there  in  the  cross-trees  I  was  like  a  stone 
in  one  of  those  ancient  catapults,  and  that  in  a  moment 
or  two,  when  she  took  the  rock,  the  catapult  would  be 
discharged  and  I  should  be  shot  into  the  sea  as  the 
mast  tipped  over.  Well.  I  dared  not  leave  my  perch. 
Little  Theo's  pistol  was  a  worse  thing  than  the  water. 
I  was  not  going  down  to  face  Little  Theo.  I  remem- 
bered how  my  father  had  told  me  that  a  number  of 
long  breaths  should  alwaj^s  be  taken  before  a  plunge 
into  the  sea.  I  stood  up  on  the  cross-trees,  holding  on 
by  the  top-gallant  halliards,  and  took  three  or  four  deep 
breaths.  As  I  stood  there  inhaling,  something  flashed 
and  cracked  ashore,  and  something  struck  the  mast  be- 
low my  hand,  scattering  tiny  white  splinters.  It  was 
not  till  the  half  second  afterwards  that  I  realised  that 
I  had  been  fired  at.  Another  shot  cut  away  the 
halliards  above  my  hand,  so  that  I  swerved,  staggered. 


220  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

and  almost  went  down,  while  the  great  yard  jolted  all 
its  weight  on  to  the  lifts.  That  was  enough  for  me.  I 
slid  down  from  the  cross-trees  by  the  topmast  back-stay 
into  the  top,  where  I  lay  down  flat  behind  the  thick 
tarpaulin  which  made  a  low  breastwork  all  round  it. 
The  seaman  stationed  in  the  top  to  warn  the  helmsman 
of  rocks  and  shallows  came  over  to  me,  jeering,  asking 
what  I  was  afraid  of,  telling  me  to  get  on  up  again; 
for  if  I  were  to  be  shot,  he  said,  I  shouldn't  be  hanged, 
and  if  I  were  to  be  hanged,  why  then  I  shouldn't  be 
shot;  so  what  was  I  making  all  the  fuss  for?  Up 
with  me,  or  he'd  prod  me  one  with  his  hanger.  How- 
ever, at  that  instant  of  time  the  ship  grated  over  a  patch 
of  sand,  with  shock  enough  to  fling  him  flat  on  to  the 
planking  beside  me.  A  shot  cut  a  hole  in  the  tarpaulin, 
and  drove  a  bit  of  yam  on  to  his  nose  with  a  smart 
fillip.  "  O  Eliza,"  he  said,  going  as  white  as  cotton. 
"  Oh,  I'm  killed.     I'm  killed." 

"  Well,  how  do  you  like  it  yourself  ?  "  I  asked  him. 
"  Why  don't  you  get  up,  and  sing  out  where  the  rocks 
are?" 

A  smart  little  volley  of  shot  came  scattering  with  a 
buzzing  and  a  rapping.  When  it  had  gone  I  felt 
strangely  cheered  and  soothed.  I  looked  through  a  hole 
in  the  top  (the  lubber's  hole)  to  see  how  the  whitish 
patch  of  rock  lay.  There  was  a  fascination  in  that 
rock.  I  did  not  consider  the  risk  of  being  killed  as  I 
stared  down.  I  wanted  to  see  the  ship  sidle  herself 
on  to  the  reef.  I  wanted  to  say  to  myself,  "  Not  yet. 
Not  yet.     In  a  moment.     Now;"  and  have  my  hands 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         221 

firmly  on  something  at  the  instant  of  her  striking. 
"  She  will  keel  over,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  and  pound 
down  upon  the  reef  again,  grinding  her  side  out  with 
the  pressure.  Then  she  will  fill,  and  turn  her  keel 
shoreward,  flinging  me  into  the  sea."  Again  she  took 
the  sand  and  staggered,  driving  clear  with  her  own 
weight,  and  churning  the  water  into  soup.  Then  I  saw 
things  projecting  suddenly  from  her  side,  lashing  the 
water,  swinging  that  shoreward  side  of  her  away  from 
the  posse.  Little  Theo  had  got  out  sweeps,  or  those 
long  oars  used  for  small  ships  in  light  air.  He  was  go- 
ing to  row  her  out. 

"  What  are  they  doing  ?  "  the  man  asked.  He  was 
still  overcome  with  terror. 

"  Trying  to  sweep  her  off,"  I  answered. 

"  Why  don't  they  shoot  them  hayseeds  ?  Shoot  'em. 
That's  the  style.  That's  my  style.  Them  sweeps  is 
old  rotten  things.  They'll  go ;  and  I'll  be  hanged.  I'll 
be  hanged." 

"Well,"  I  said  (rather  aptly,  I  thought).  "If 
you're  hanged  you  won't  be  drowned.  Look  out. 
Hold  tight."  Another  volley  came  from  the  shore. 
Our  rowing  stopped.  One  oar,  crippled  by  a  slug,  bent 
and  swung  aft  uselessly.  The  other  two  made  a  tenta- 
tive stroke  and  paused.  The  'tween-deck  ports  on  that 
side  went  up  together  with  a  dry  rattling  of  port-ropes. 
After  an  instant's  pause  for  aiming,  a  volley  of  small 
arms  flashed  from  them,  making  the  ship  tremble,  as  I 
could  feel  even  up  in  the  top.  After  the  volley  the 
ports  fell  back  again.     The  oars  tugged  and  wavered 


222  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

again,  straining  bard.  They  began  to  take  bold.  We 
began  to  move.  Tbe  posse  seeing  tbat,  fired  bard  at 
tbe  oars,  at  tbe  oar  ports,  and  at  tbe  top  wbere  we 
were.  I  suppose  a  dozen  bullets  came  tbrougb  tbe  tar- 
paulin breastwork  over  me.  As  long  as  I  lay  still  I 
could  not  be  bit;  but  it  dawned  on  me  after  a  time 
tbat  we  were  moving,  and  tbat  tbe  cbannel  needed  care- 
ful steering.  Tbe  sbip  was  being  steered  from  witbin 
tbe  cabin  by  means  of  tbe  relieving  tackles.  Little 
Tbeo,  lying  buddled  up  against  tbe  bulwarks  far  aft, 
was  calling  to  tbe  steerers  to  port  or  starboard  by  wbat 
be  could  see  of  tbe  sbore  from  wbere  be  lay.  He 
took  little  peeps  from  time  to  time  tbrougb  one  of  tbe 
empty  upper  deck  gun-ports ;  but  tbat  was  of  little  use. 
Wbat  be  wanted  was  a  band  to  warn  us  of  tbe  sboal- 
ing  of  tbe  sea  in  our  patb.  Stretcbing  out  my  leg,  I 
kicked  tbe  frightened  man.  "  Get  up,"  I  said,  "  and 
con  tbe  sbip  out."  He  wbimpered  and  baulked,  cry- 
ing out  tbat  be  wasn't  fit  to  die.  "  Very  well,"  I  said, 
"  I'll  do  it.  But  first  you  give  me  your  knife  and  belt. 
If  I'm  to  do  your  work  I'll  be  paid  for  it."  He  did  tbis 
very  gladly.  I  tbink  be  would  bave  given  me  all  be 
bad.     I  put  tbem  on  and  stood  up. 

I  bad  no  sooner  stood  up  tban  a  couple  of  balls  came 
past  my  ears  with  a  wbang.  At  tbe  same  time  a  fresb 
gust  caugbt  us  and  drove  us  forward,  almost  flinging 
me  down  lubber's  bole.  We  gatbered  way  fast,  for 
tbe  wind  beld.  "Port,"  I  sbouted.  "Port  bard." 
We  swung  past  a  bad  rock  just  in  time,  and  tbumped 
witb  a  sbaking  crasb  on  to  a  spur  lying  out  from  it. 


i 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         223 

She  rose  up  from  it  and  pounded  down  before  she  drove 
by,  with  the  pressure  of  the  way  she  had  upon  her. 
Up  aloft  where  I  was  I  could  not  tell  how  badly  she 
had  struck.  I  had  nothing  to  tell  me  except  the  clatter 
aloft  of  gear  flogging  and  buckling  spars.  I  did  not 
doubt  from  the  motion  of  the  ship  that  she  had  hit  her- 
self severely,  somewhere  abaft  her  beam,  I  heard 
them  crying  out  down  below  to  get  the  pumps  rigged. 
The  sweeps  on  that  side  trailed  aft  uselessly.  The 
rowers  had  flung  them  down  to  attend  to  the  pumps. 
Those  ashore  gave  a  cheer  when  they  saw  us  strike. 
They. ceased  firing,  expecting  us  to  fill  and  go  down  in 
short  order;  but  instead  of  that  we  kept  our  course, 
drawing  away  from  them,  till  even  their  heaviest  gun 
fell  short  of  us.  Now  the  ship  began  to  bob  to  the 
advancing  ranks  of  cresters  setting  into  the  creek.  The 
danger  was  over.  We  were  drawn  abreast  of  the  bluff 
with  the  cedar  trees  upon  it,  standing  out  to  open 
water,  with  a  bright  sparkle  of  foam  at  our  bows.  Lit- 
tle Theo  was  walking  the  deck  once  more.  A  hand 
was  at  the  helm  on  deck.  Dick,  far  aft,  was  dipping 
Spanish  colours  to  the  posse  in  contemptuous  farewell. 
A  spurt  of  water  shot  from  one  of  the  'tween-deck  ports. 
They  were  trying  the  well  with  a  little  hand-pump. 
Something  in  the  gaiety  of  that  leaping  fountain  made 
me  homesick  and  sad.  I  knew  then  that  I  was  out- 
ward bound  again,  to  a  new  kind  of  life  of  which  I 
could  not  see  the  end.  There  was  Virginia,  where  I 
had  eaten  my  heart  for  two  years.  Before  me  was 
water,  running  on  into  the  sky,  a  greyish  blue  waste  of 


224  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

Atlantic.  I  did  not  know  what  I  was  to  find  there.  A 
violent,  rough,  dishonest  way  of  life,  I  thought;  a  life 
without  beauty,  without  leisure,  without  friends.  I 
had  wasted  two  years  of  my  life  in  that  land  of  hill 
and  forest  astern.  In  a  little  while  I  should  be  too 
old  for  any  profession.  I  should  be  a  wasted  life,  un- 
taught and  boorish.  I  should  be  but  a  daily  labourer, 
while  boys  below  me  at  Dr.  Carter's  would  be  filling 
honoured  posts,  advancing  the  world's  thought  and  their 
country's  dignity.  In  this  melancholy  mood,  even  the 
thought  that  I  should  be  with  Mr.  Mora  gave  me  no 
comfort.  He  had  not  been  able  to  save  himself.  A 
hail  came  up  to  me  from  the  deck. 

"  Hands,"  cried  Little  Theo.  "  Hands,  man  the 
pump.  Starboard  watch,  trim  sail.  Down  from  aloft 
there,  you."  I  slid  down  the  topmast  back-stay  to  the 
deck,  and  there  was  Dick,  cutting  a  pump-washer  from 
a  boot. 

"  Dick,"  I  cried,  "  what  are  they  manning  the  pumps 
for  ?  Is  she  badly  hurt  ?  "  Dick  turned  to  me,  all  wet 
and  filthy  from  prowling  down  below  to  get  at  the 
leak. 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  she's  ripped  her  garboard  strakes 
off  of  her  quick-work.  So  if  you  don't  get  a  hold  of 
that  pump,  or  ladle  her  out  with  one  of  them  buckets, 
you'll  know  what  sea-floor  smells  like,  before  you're  put 
in  a  watch.  Pump,  you  young  rip.  Pump.  Look  at 
it  coming  out  there.  It's  as  bright  as  breakers.  She's 
rammed  a  hole  in  her  silly  old  bilge  as  big  as  Uncle 
James's  waggon.     Heave  round  on  that  brake,  my  son. 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         225 

Off  saddle  and  muscle  up.  Make  the  pretty  salt  water 
go  back  where  it  belongs."  He  bent  down  and  fitted 
the  washer  carefully.  "  There,"  he  cried.  "  Try  her 
with  that,  my  sons.  Heave  round  now.  Heave. 
Does  that  fetch  her  ? "  They  took  a  few  fetching 
strokes  with  the  brakes  till  the  water  was  running  into 
the  waterways  in  a  smart  stream.  "  That's  got  her," 
said  Dick.  "  Start  a  song  with  it."  He  gave  a  heave 
or  two  at  one  of  the  brakes,  and  then  piped  up  a  plain- 
tive old  song,  with  a  tune  which  thrilled  me.  The  men 
joined  in  as  they  pumped,  singing  with  real  feeling, 
keeping  good  time  and  tune :  — 

"I  dreamed  a  dream  the  other  night. 

Lowlands,  Lowlands.     Hurrah,  my  John. 
I  dreamed  a  dream  the  other  night. 
My  Lowlands  a-ray." 

Singing  this  old  sad  song,  I  passed  past  Old  Joe's  Head- 
land, and  away  from  Accomac  forever. 


Ill 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  confusion  in  the  Marie 
Galante  that  afternoon.  Half  a  dozen  hands  had  been 
wounded  by  the  posse,  two  very  seriously,  including 
the  drunken  doctor.  With  these  out  of  action,  as  well 
as  those  hurt  in  the  fight  with  the  Indians,  we  were 
desperately  short-handed.  It  ought  not  to  have  been 
so;  for  she  was  a  small  and  handy  ship,  under  hardly 
any  sail;  but  the  leak  was  a  serious  matter,  keeping 
six  hands  always  at  the  pumps  in  twenty-minute  spells. 


226  LOST  EITDEAVOUK 

With  a  hand  steering,  a  hand  looking  out  aloft,  a  hand 
taking  charge  and  keeping  the  rest  to  their  work,  we 
were  as  short-handed  as  the  Ark,  as  Dick  said.  The 
hands  made  a  sort  of  a  meal  on  deck,  with  a  good  al- 
lowance of  spirits.  I  noticed  that  Dick  kept  a  care- 
ful eje  on  them  as  they  ate.  He  checked  the  least  ap- 
pearance of  rudeness  and  discontent,  with  what  seemed 
to  me  to  he  unnecessary  bitterness.  He  seemed  uneasy 
during  the  meal.  He  kept  glancing  at  the  water  from 
the  pumps.  "  Why,"  he  said,  in  a  surprised  tone, 
"  ain't  them  pumps  sucking  yet  ?  Sing  out  when  they 
suck."  Then  he  turned  to  the  next  spell,  who  were 
standing  by  to  take  their  turn.  "  I'll  give  a  ten-dollar 
mess-treat  to  the  spell  which  sucks  her."  {Note. —  By 
sucking  he  meant  making  the  pumps  to  "  suck,"  or 
draw  up  air,  showing  that  they  had  emptied  the  well.) 
"  What  are  you  staring  at  ?  "  he  said  to  me.  "  You 
want  some  work  to  do.  You've  eaten  as  much  as  you're 
worth.  So.  You  see  that  fore-hatch.  Go  down  it  into 
the  'tween-decks,  and  from  there  into  the  fore-hold.  At 
the  foot  of  the  ladder  you'll  see  a  cask  lashed  abaft  the 
stanchions  of  the  hatch.  In  the  cask  is  some  soft-brick 
and  some  old  sail-rag.  You  get  some  of  that,  and  clean 
the  brass  on  the  cabin-windows.  Down  with  you,  now." 
I  left  my  food,  and  ran  away  to  do  what  I  was  bid. 

Down  in  the  fore-hold  below  the  water-line  it  was 
very  dark.  I  groped  all  about  the  fore-hatch  for  the 
cask  which  Dick  had  mentioned,  but  I  could  not  meet 
with  it  anywhere.  I  was  just  going  to  go  on  deck 
again,  to  tell  Dick  that  I  could  not  find  the  cask,  when 


CHAELES  HARDING'S  STORY         227 

I  saw  a  liglit,  like  a  lantern  light,  moving  about  above 
the  bales  and  casks  of  the  stowed  cargo,  in  the  narrow 
space  between  their  tops  and  the  'tween-deck  beams 
and  planks.  I  did  not  know  what  it  was  at  first.  It 
frightened  me.  Enough  wickedness  and  violence  had 
gone  on  in  that  ship  for  it  to  be  haunted  by  evil  things, 
such  as  they  say  walk  in  old  castles  at  night.  It  is  all 
nonsense,  of  course;  no  one  ever  sees  such  things;  one 
fears  darkness  because  one  cannot  see  what  is  in  it. 
But  you  go  down  into  a  dark  hold,  full  of  gurglings 
and  groanings,  after  a  day  and  night  of  wildest  nervous 
strain,  and  see  a  globe  of  light  coming  slowly  towards 
you  out  of  the  darkness,  and  you  will  remember  all  the 
ghost  stories  you  ever  read,  and  believe  them,  and  quake 
all  down  your  marrow  at  them.  After  ten  seconds  of 
horror  I  saw  that  a  man  was  scrambling  over  the  bales 
towards  me  with  a  lantern  in  his  hand.  "  Don't  cut," 
said  Dick's  voice.  "  Hold  on ;  I  want  you."  He  slid 
himself  down  some  packs  of  vicuna  wool,  and  brought 
to  alongside  me.  "  Here,"  he  said.  "  Come  on  here, 
and  don't  make  a  noise."  He  pulled  me  over  to  the 
ship's  port-side.  "  See  this,"  he  said,  showing  a  small 
earthenware  pot.  "  Watch  me."  He  placed  it  against 
one  of  the  great  ribs  of  the  ship  and  laid  his  ear  to 
it.  "  Quiet,"  he  said.  "  Don't  stir.  Quiet  a  min- 
ute." He  listened  intently  for  a  while,  and  then  moved 
to  the  rib  further  forward,  where  he  listened  again. 
Then  he  went  right  up  to  the  bows  of  her  and  listened 
again  at  the  foremost  rib  of  all,  in  a  space  so  dark  that 
I  could  only  grope  my  way  with  one  hand  on  the  ship's 


228  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

side.  The  lantern,  being  of  thick  horn,  gave  little  more 
light  than  a  rushlight.  He  sighed  a  little  at  the  fore- 
mast rib,  and  bade  me  come  aft  again  to  one  of  the  after 
ribs.  "  Be  careful  of  the  ring-bolts,"  he  said.  "  We 
had  the  slaves  down  here  three  trips  back,  and  some  of 
the  irons  are  still  about.     There.     Now,  quiet  again." 

We  listened  together  intently  in  that  central  dark- 
ness. It  was  unreal  there.  It  was  strange.  It  was 
wonderful,  I  felt  that  we  were  two  conspirators  down 
below,  plotting  something;  or  if  you  like,  two  doctors 
testing  the  ship's  heart-beats,  two  little  thoughts  in  a 
brain,  two  dim  figures  from  a  dream. 

"  Now,"  said  Dick.  "  Come  here,  boy.  Put  your 
ear  to  the  pot  here  and  listen  carefully."  I  stepped 
up  to  him,  and  laid  my  ear  to  the  pot ;  and  instantly, 
as  though  I  had  laid  a  shell  to  my  ear,  a  noise  of  water 
came  to  me  —  not  as  it  comes  with  a  shell,  though ;  nor 
as  it  comes  from  a  tap.  It  was  a  peculiar  noise.  There 
was  a  gurgling  and  a  bubbling  sound,  as  though  a  brook 
were  running  at  a  little  distance.  All  sorts  of  noises 
were  mixed  up  with  it,  of  course.  There  was  the  pip- 
ing, groaning  noise  of  a  ship's  side  straining  at  every 
roll,  and  the  noise  of  rats  scuffling  and  squeaking;  but 
very  plainly,  through  all  the  noises,  there  came  the 
noise  of  water  gurgling  and  bubbling.  At  first  I 
thought  that  it  might  be  water  creaming  away  from  the 
bows  as  we  drove  along;  but  I  soon  found  that  that 
noise  was  distinct.  "  Well,"  said  Dick  at  last,  "  what 
do  you  make  of  it  ?     What  do  you  hear  ?  " 


i 


CHAELES  HAEDING'S  STORY         229 

"  Water,"  I  answered,  "  water  gurgling." 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  Water  gurgling.  About  how 
much  water  ?     A  good  big  brook  of  water  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said.  "  A  pretty  good  swift  brook  of 
water." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  A  pretty  good  swift  brook. 
Well,  it's  coming  into  us,  that  brook.  There's  two  feet 
of  it  in  the  well.  I  tell  you,  boy,  it  will  be  a  close  call 
for  us  this  trip.  She's  knocked  a  big  hole  in  herself." 
I  was  aghast  at  this.  I  didn't  know  what  to  answer. 
At  last  I  asked  him  what  they  would  do,  and  whether 
they  could  get  to  the  island. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  'No,  no.  With  a  hole  like  that  in 
her,  and  a  crew  of  hangbacks  like  them  on  the  deck 
there,  that's  out  of  the  question.  We  shan't  smell  Boca 
Drago  this  trip." 

"  No  ?  "  said  I.  "  And  you  can't  put  in  to  James 
Town  nor  into  the  creek  here,  for  the  country's  raised  on 
you.  And  by  this  time  the  frigate  will  be  after  you, 
and  you  won't  be  able  to  get  away  from  her.  You've 
got  no  sails." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  in  a  gloomy  voice.  "  We  may  look 
to  be  chased  in  less  than  an  hour.  I  wonder  what  we 
could  do.  One  thing  is  sure,  we  are  in  a  bad  way 
all  round.  But,  listen,  you.  Do  you  hear  the  pump 
going  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered,  after  a  pause.  "  They've  stopped 
pumping." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I'll  dye  my  hair.     Do  they  want 


230  LOST  ENDEAVOTJE 

her  to  sink  ? "     He  ran  up  on  deck,  muttering  angry 
words;  I  followed  him. 


IV 

When  we  got  to  the  deck  we  found  the  hands  quar- 
relling round  the  pump,  some  part  of  which  had  broken 
internally,  choking  it.  Some  were  maintaining  that 
the  thing  could  be  mended ;  the  others,  by  far  the  larger 
body,  were  saying  that  they  would  break  the  head  of 
any  one  who  mended  it;  for  why,  said  they,  should 
they  want  to  mend  a  pump  which  would  keep  them 
hard  at  work  all  day;  short-handed  as  they  were? 
Dick  was  never  a  patient  man.  He  flung  them  aside 
angrily,  so  that  he  might  examine  the  damage.  "  See 
here,"  he  said,  after  a  short  examination.  "  One  of 
you  fools  has  been  monkeying  with  this.  Which  of  you 
was  it  ?  " 

Nobody  answered ;  but  the  tone  of  Dick's  voice  trou- 
bled them  a  good  deal ;  they  hung  their  heads,  and  looked 
as  schoolboys  look  between  the  lecture  and  the  flogging. 
"  Where  is  Theo  ?  "  said  Dick,  sucking  in  his  lower  lip 
and  biting  on  it. 

"  Gone  asleep,"  said  one  of  them.  "  His  wound's 
broke  out  again,  so  Jose  gave  him  a  sleeping  draught, 
and  he's  just  off,  quiet  as  a  lamb.  He'll  sleep  till 
night,  I  guess." 

"  Well  then,"  said  Dick,  rounding  on  them  fiercely. 
"  I  command  here,  I  guess.     And  I'll  tell  you  some- 


CHAKLES  HARDING'S  STOEY         231 

thing.  Virginia,  there,  is  death  to  you.  See?  You 
fired  on  the  posse,  even  if  you  didn't  kill  anybody. 
And,  even  without  them  counts,  our  cargo  here  is 
enough  to  hang  the  lot  of  us.  That  ticks  off  Virginia. 
In  one  of  them  creeks,  getting  ready  to  come  after 
us,  is  the  station  frigate,  which  we  thought  was  at 
James  Town.  She'll  be  after  us  at  any  minute.  So 
much  for  her.  We're  at  sea  without  sails  and  with- 
out stores.  We're  short-handed,  and  a  lot  of  our  hands 
are  hurt.  And  a  pretty  rotten  lot  the  sound  ones 
are.  Lastly,  we've  got  two  foot  of  water  in  the  well, 
and  one  of  you  beauties  has  gone  and  wrecked  the  pump. 
That  ticks  off  us.  Now  then,  you  may  chew  on  that 
for  a  while ;  I'm  going  to  have  a  smoke." 

He  lit  a  seaman's  short  pipe,  and  walked  up  and 
down  to  windward  of  them,  giving  them  contemptuous 
glances  from  time  to  time.  I  never  saw  a  sorrier  lot 
of  men  than  those  crestfallen  pirates.  At  first  they 
stood  dumbfoundedly  looking  at  each  other.  Then  one 
of  them  went  to  the  place  abaft  the  main-mast  where 
the  sounding-rod  hung,  to  measure  the  leak  for  him- 
self. The  rod  was  no  longer  there;  Dick  had  dropped 
it  overboard  privily.  They  had  to  accept  his  word 
for  the  leak's  presence;  and  since  they  could  not  dis- 
prove it,  they  did  so.  One  or  two  of  them  bent  down 
in  a  faint-hearted  way  as  though  to  repair  the  pump. 
The  others  stared  stupidly  at  Dick,  and  then  looked 
at  each  other,  each  hoping  that  somebody  else  would 
pipe  up  an  answer  or  suggest  a  remedy.  At  last  one 
of  them,  more  frightened  that  the  others,  asked  "  what 


232  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

would  become  of  them,  please,"  which  was  just  the 
question  which  Dick  wanted. 

"  Why,"  he  said,  "  if  you  are  not  hanged  you'll  be 
drowned,  which  is  what  I  hope  from  my  heart  you 
will  be."  This  crushed  any  little  show  of  mutiny 
which  might  have  been  left  in  them.  It  made  them 
realise  that  they  were  in  a  pretty  tight  place.  One  of 
them  said  that  the  best  thing  would  be  to  run  the  ship 
ashore,  or  take  her  humbly  into  James  Town  and  sub- 
mit to  the  King's  mercy. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick.  "  The  posse  are  following  along 
the  shore,  hoping  that  that  is  what  you'll  do.  As  for 
the  King's  mercy,  you've  just  defied  it.  Eind  another 
answer.  Guess  again,  my  Toro."  Toro  did  not  guess 
again,  nor  did  anybody  else  guess  again.  "  Well," 
said  Dick,  "  you  are  all  fallen  dumb,  are  you  ?  You 
were  talkative  enough  just  now.  'Now  perhaps  you'll 
listen  to  me,  before  she  sinks  on  you,  as  she  will  if 
you  leave  her  to  herself  much  longer.  Up  there,  some 
of  you,  and  rip  that  awning  off  her.  It's  a  bare 
chance.  Two  of  you  bring  up  blankets  from  below  — 
twenty  or  thirty,  and  any  mattresses  you  may  run 
against.  Stop,  no.  A  bale  or  two  of  that  vicuna  wool, 
down  in  the  fore-hold.  That's  a  thicker  kind  of  stuff. 
Be  lively  with  it.  Don't  stand  looking  on,  the  rest 
of  you.  Eetch  out  the  hand-pump  and  get  her  started. 
The  rest  of  you  get  a  chain  of  buckets  ready,  in  case  it 
comes  to  that.  I'll  keep  this  ship  alive  as  long  as  there's 
any  sense  in  it.     Stamp  now.     Jump." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  awning  came  down  from  the 


CHARLES  HARDmG'S  STORY         233 

main-yard.  Dick  stretched  it  out  on  the  deck,  and 
sent  some  hands  to  get  two  tackles  passed  round  the 
ship  from  without  (under  her  keel),  one  on  each  side 
of  the  site  of  the  supposed  leak.  While  they  were  do- 
ing this,  he  put  other  hands  to  the  work  of  sewing 
thick  handfuls  of  wool,  or  rolls  of  blanket,  on  the  in- 
side of  the  awning,  so  as  to  make  it  resemble  a  furry 
mat.  I  helped  at  this  work  by  tearing  out  the  wool 
from  the  bale  and  handing  it  to  those  who  had  sail- 
needles.  We  worked  at  a  feverish  rate.  As  we  worked, 
a  man  came  up  from  the  'tween-decks  to  say  that  the 
little  hand-pump,  which  would  at  least  have  held  the 
leak  in  an  even  balance,  was  out  of  order  in  some  way. 
A  hole  had  been  knocked  in  the  shaft,  letting  in  the  air. 
There  was  no  working  it.  It  wouldn't  draw  water. 
Dick  didn't  say  much  to  this. 

"  Some  more  of  you  beauties'  handiwork,"  he  mut- 
tered. "  Well.  If  I  get  you  out  of  this  mess,"  he 
added,  "  perhaps  you'll  be  wiser  another  time."  They 
certainly  looked  as  though  they  had  made  up  their 
minds  to  be  a  great  deal  wiser  another  time.  For  my 
part  I  doubted  whether  that  other  time  would  ever 
come.  When  I  thought  of  that  gurgling  water  down 
in  the  hold,  I  began  to  think  of  what  would  happen 
if  this  contrivance  of  Dick's  came  to  nothing.  What 
would  happen  ?  The  water  would  come  creeping,  in 
little  runnels,  over  the  'tween-decks,  sliding  across  with 
a  nasty  rush  at  each  roll.  And  each  roll  would  be 
smaller  than  the  one  before.  And  each  pitch  would  be 
deader,  and  "  more  soggy  "  (as  they  said)  than  the  one 


234  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

before.  Till  at  last  she  would  be  a  log  on  the  sea,  set- 
tling, settling,  settling,  the  swing-ports  awash,  the 
hatchway  a  brimming  well,  the  bitts  an  island.  Then 
we  should  waver  to  one  side,  and  lurch,  and  go  down, 
like  a  dropping  stone ;  and  I  should  smell  the  sea-floor, 
as  Dick  called  it,  and  lie  rolled  about  by  the  ground 
swell,  with  the  little  white  sea-snails  and  the  coral-plants 
and  the  shadows  of  big  ships  passing. 

"  Now,"  said  Dick,  when  we  had  finished  the  work. 
"  The  sooner  we  get  this  joker  over  the  side  the  bet- 
ter. There's  three  foot  inside  the  lower  hold  by  this 
time.  So  heave  now,  hearties.  Over  with  her."  We 
adjusted  the  tackle  to  the  corners  of  the  awning,  and 
then  hauled  it  under  the  ship's  keel,  till  we  had  got  it, 
as  we  judged,  over  the  hole.  Dick  took  me  down  be- 
low from  time  to  time  to  try  the  leak  by  the  method  of 
the  pot.  After  the  fourth  readjustment  of  the  tackle 
I  found  that  the  noise  of  the  running  brook  had  ceased, 
but  that  in  its  place  there  was  a  dull  swashing  noise, 
just  below  our  feet  as  it  seemed.  The  rats  were  in 
great  numbers,  running  about  excitedly,  without  any 
fear  of  us. 

"  See  those  rats  ?  "  said  Dick.  "  They're  flooded  out 
from  the  lower  hold.  We've  got  as  much  sea  down  be- 
low us  as  would  float  a  Campeachy  sloop.  Hark  at  it 
swishing  around.  Ugly  noise.  It  gives  you  a  grue,  I 
think.  But  we've  checked  the  leak  for  the  time,  that's 
certain.  That  gives  us  time  to  look  around  us,  any- 
how.    We'll  get  the  pumps  rigged." 


CHAELES  HARDING'S  STORY         235 

But  getting  even  the  hand-pump  rigged  was  no  easy 
job  to  men  left  practically  without  tools.  Dick  was 
a  marvel  of  adaptive  skill  and  patience,  the  crafts- 
man's two  qualities,  but  even  he  found  it  hard  to  get 
anything  done. 

"  Well,"  he  said  at  last,  when  the  pump  sent  its  first 
wavering  jet  of  water  over  the  side,  "  she  works  at 
last.  I  pity  Doggy  Sam  if  I  ever  come  across  him  in 
the  future.  He's  given  me  the  time  of  my  life  get- 
ting this  pump  rigged.  Heave  gently,  boys.  She  may 
burst  on  you  at  any  minute.  Now  we'll  tackle  the  big 
one."  All  this  time  we  were  dragging  slowly  along  on 
a  course  about  S.E.,  holding  slantingly  away  from  the 
land,  now  distant  from  us  about  four  miles.  We  were 
crawling,  because  we  had  no  fit  sails  to  set.  What 
we  should  do  in  foul  weather,  or  if  the  wind,  freshen- 
ing and  drawing  ahead,  should  force  us  back,  I  could 
not  imagine.  I  supposed  that  we  must  be  driven  in- 
evitably into  James  Town. 

"  Aloft  there,"  shouted  Dick.  "  Any  sign  of  the 
frigate?  Come  do^m  for  a  glass  and  see  if  you  can 
make  her  out  inshore  there." 

A  careful  examination  of  the  coast-line  through  a  spy- 
glass showed  the  mouth  of  Myngs'  Creek,  but  no  sign 
of  the  frigate. 

"  Good,"  said  Dick.  "  There'll  be  no  moon  to-night. 
We  shall  get  away  after  all,  boy.  Does  any  one  here 
know  about  Myngs'  Creek  ?  " 


236  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 


iMow  it  happened  that,  rather  than  a  year  before,  I 
had  gone  to  Mjngs'  Creek  in  old  Carteret's  sloop,  with 
Carteret  and  a  couple  of  negroes.  We  had  taken  about 
a  ton  of  tobacco,  for  the  Planters'  Association,  and 
had  brought  back  a  cargo  of  assorted  iron-ware.  I  had 
been  hard  at  work  throughout  my  stay  in  the  creek, 
and  I  remembered  little  about  the  entrance  from  the 
sea.  I  said  that  it  was  a  very  good  place  for  ships  to 
careen  in — [Note. —  To  careen  a  ship  is  to  heave  her 
over  on  her  side,  so  as  to  scrub  all  the  barnacles  from 
her] — because  the  end  of  the  creek  was  sandy,  and 
free  from  rocks.  More  than  that,  there  was  plenty  of 
good  brush-wood  thereabouts  in  case  any  captain  chose 
to  burn  away  the  barnacles  by  the  process  called 
"  breaming."  It  was  not  a  well-known  place.  Myngs, 
the  planter,  was  dead  now,  and  his  plantation  over- 
grown ;  but  I  remember  hearing  that  the  frigates  on  the 
station  sometimes  careened  there,  or  put  in  for  wood  and 
water,  instead  of  going  the  extra  two  or  three  days'  sail 
to  James  Town.     I  mentioned  this  to  Dick. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  casually.  "  I  shouldn't  wonder." 
He  stopped  and  looked  carefully  shoreward.  "  There," 
he  cried,  "  there.  Yes.  There  she  comes.  She's  com- 
ing out  after  us.  Give  me  the  glass."  Before  I  real- 
ised what  it  was  that  had  moved  him,  he  was  racing 
up  aloft  to  the  cross-trees  to  exaamine  her.  Looking 
towards  the  land  I  saw  that,  sure  enough,  she  was  com- 
ing out,  a  small  frigate  of  the  sixth-rate,  under  a  fore- 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         237 

topsail,  spritsail  and  mainsail,  hardly  more  canvas  than 
we  ourselves  carried.  There  was  something  wrong 
with  her  after-masts;  but  what  it  was  I  couldn't  quite 
make  out,  they  were  cloaked  by  her  topsail.  It  was 
just  upon  sunset  when  we  first  caught  sight  of  her,  a 
fine-weather  sunset,  with  a  good  deal  of  haze.  The 
wind  came  fair  and  light,  growing  if  anything  weaker, 
with  the  promise  of  falling  calm.  It  would  be  dark 
probably  in  an  hour's  time,  perhaps  more  quickly  if 
the  haze  gathered.  Our  one  chance  was  to  keep  out 
of  her  clutches  till  dark,  when  we  might  possibly  elude 
her.  It  was  a  slender  chance,  I  admit.  I  could  see  by 
the  looks  of  the  men  on  deck  that  they  gave  themselves 
up  for  lost,  directly  they  caught  sight  of  her. 

"  We're  done,"  said  one  of  them.  "  She'll  fetch  us 
up  in  a  round  turn,  and  then  we  shall  dangle.  We  may 
as  well  go  drink." 

"  On  deck  there,"  cried  Dick  from  aloft.  "  Heave 
round  on  that  pump,  or  I'll  come  and  make  you.  Come 
up  aloft,  you,  boy.     Come  up  here  to  me." 

When  I  got  to  the  cross-trees,  Dick  bade  me  sit  down 
steadily,  and  take  a  good  view  of  the  frigate  through 
the  glass.  "  Tell  me,"  he  said.  "  You've  got  a  good 
view  of  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said ;  "  and  what  a  wonderful  thing  this 
glass  is.  It  makes  her  seem  almost  within  hail.  She's 
as  clear  as  clear.  I've  never  looked  through  a  glass 
before." 

"No?"  said  Dick.  "Well.  That  one  is  a  very 
good  glass.     I  got  that  glass  at  the  Isle  of  Aves.     It 


238  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

was  in  a  brass  case,  buried  a  foot  in  the  sand.  I  was 
digging  for  water  there,  above  the  tide-marks,  and  I 
came  across  that.  That  glass  belonged  to  the  great 
French  Admiral  the  County  Stree  (Comte  d'Estrees), 
so  it  has  a  right  to  be  a  good  one.  But  look  now  very 
carefully,  and  tell  me  what  you  make  of  her  after- 
masts." 

"  Why,"  said  I,  after  a  brief  examination,  "  her  main 
topmast  has  been  left  ashore,  and  her  mizzen  topmast  is 
unrigged." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick.  "  That's  the  case.  I  thought  so, 
but  I  didn't  dare  hope  it.  Now  look  carefully  ashore, 
at  the  back  of  Myngs'  Creek  there.     What  do  you  see  ?  " 

"  Smoke,"  I  said ;  "  smoke  going  up  in  a  column. 
Two  or  three  columns.     What  can  be  smoking  there  ?  " 

Dick  did  not  answer,  but  called  to  the  men  below 
to  rig  up  tackles  aloft,  so  as  to  hoist  buckets  of  water 
on  to  the  sails.  Then  he  called  to  the  helmsman  to 
put  dead  before  the  wind,  which  was  the  Marie  Ga- 
lante's  best  point  of  sailing.  In  a  few  minutes,  while 
we  watched  the  frigate,  the  hands  began  to  send  up 
buckets  of  water,  which  they  tipped  over  the  sails  so 
as  to  make  the  canvas  swell.  When  a  sail  is  swollen 
with  water  it  retains  the  wind.  An  old  sail,  which  is 
dry  and  worn  thin,  lets  a  lot  of  the  wind  through  it. 
Presently,  in  the  failing  wind,  the  night  began  to  come 
upon  us.  As  it  grew  darker,  Dick  took  careful  bear- 
ings of  the  land,  and  gave  orders  for  a  light  to  be  placed 
in  the  cabin.  The  men  grumbled  at  this ;  but  Dick  told 
them  that  he  knew  what  he  was  about,  and  that  he 


CHAELES  HAEDING'S  STORY         239 

wanted  it  done;  so  they  obeyed,  growling  that  Dick 
wanted  to  get  them  all  hanged,  showing  where  they 
were.  When  this  had  been  done,  Dick  got  up  a  lot  of 
boards,  lashed  them  together  so  as  to  form  a  raft,  and 
rigged  upon  it  a  cask,  with  square  holes  cut  in  it  at 
intervals,  and  a  little  mast  and  sail  for  its  forward  end. 
At  the  bottom  of  the  cask  he  placed  a  big  tin  full  of 
oil,  with  a  wick  stuck  into  each  end.  At  nine  o'clock, 
when  it  was  pitch  dark  and  almost  calm,  he  lowered 
this  contrivance  into  the  sea,  climbed  down  upon  it,  and 
listened  intently  for  some  minutes.  Then  he  climbed 
back,  put  out  the  light  in  the  cabin,  lit  the  wicks  in  the 
raft,  and  turned  her  adrift  into  the  sea. 

"  Charles,"  he  said,  drawing  me  aside,  "  d'you  know 
what  kind  of  a  fix  we're  in  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  think  I  do.  The  fothering  mat 
over  the  leak  may  slip  (in  which  case  we  shall  sink  in 
a  few  hours),  or  if  that  doesn't  happen  first,  the  frigate 
will  take  you,  and  you  will  all  be  hanged,  either  for 
killing  the  men  in  resisting  the  Sheriff,  or  for  piracy. 
And  I  shall  be  taken  back  to  old  Carteret." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick,  "  and  have  the  life  pretty  well 
welted  out  of  you  for  losing  the  horse,  and  failing  to 
bring  the  salve.  But  we  aren't  sunk  or  taken  yet.  And 
what  do  you  think  of  the  frigate  ?  " 

"  Why,"  I  answered,  "  she's  a  little  frigate.  And  in 
this  wind  she's  going  no  faster  than  we  are." 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  that's  not  what  I  meant.  Listen. 
You  see  that  she  is  partly  unrigged  ?  That  shows  that 
she  put  into  Myngs'  Creek  to  careen.     Why  else  would 


240  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

she  be  unrigged  at  anchor  in  fair  weather?  News  of 
us  reached  her  when  she  was  half-stripped,  ready  to 
careen;  that  is  why  she  was  so  long  in  coming  out 
after  us.  The  smokes  which  you  saw  show  that  she  is 
getting  tar  heated;  or  so  I  suppose.  Possibly  she  was 
going  to  caulk  her  lee  side,  before  putting  it  over  on 
to  the  mud.  Her  captain  is  a  child  at  his  business. 
Otherwise,  he  would  have  got  news  of  us  from  the 
planters  a  week  ago.  I  don't  know,  though.  He  may 
have  just  come  on  to  this  station  from  the  southward. 
One  other  thing.  The  frigate  has  come  out  in  such  a 
hurry  that  she  has  brought  no  boats.  How  do  I  know 
that  ?  If  she  had  boats  she  would  have  taken  us  by 
this  time  by  means  of  them.  I  listened  carefully,  a 
minute  or  two  ago,  but  I  could  hear  no  noise  of  oars. 
So  now  I  am  going  to  play  a  new  card.  Bring  the  ship 
to  the  wind,"  he  said  to  the  helmsman.  "  Bring  her  to 
the  wind,  and  rouse  out,  a  few  of  you,  and  load  your 
pistols." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  now  ?  "  they  grumbled. 
"  You've  been  working  our  old  irons  up  till  we're  sick 
of  it.     What's  your  new  game  ?  " 

"  You'll  soon  see,"  he  said.  "  Get  ready  the  boat. 
I'm  going  into  that  creek  to  steal  the  frigate's  stores. 
When  you're  in  a  desperate  mess,  be  desperate.  That's 
what  Julius  Caesar  done,  and  look  what  a  big  gun  he 
was.  And  you,  boy,  you  shove  your  head  into  a  bucket 
of  water  and  get  your  brains  clear.  I  want  you  to  re- 
member what  Myngs'  Creek  is  like  inside.     Now  then. 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         241 

you  gang  of  ten-and-a-talliers,  buck  your  sand.  Come 
on  and  get  hearty,  or  I'll  club  you  with  a  Portsmouth 
fiddle.  That's  what  makes  the  sailors  dance.  Get 
ready  the  boat,  you  crockamores.     Stamp  and  go,  now." 

But  here  one  of  those  maddening  seamen  made  an 
objection. 

"  Here,"  he  said.  "  You  say  you're  going  into  the 
creek  to  take  the  frigate's  stores,  and  that  ?  What  kind 
of  madness  do  you  call  that  ?  " 

"  Madness,"  said  Dick.  "  A  kind  of  madness  which 
will  lift  you  out  of  a  pretty  queer  lash-up."  He  took 
the  fellow  by  the  waist,  and  danced  him  down  to  the 
boat's  inhaul.  "  Now,"  he  said.  "  Never  you  mind 
about  madness.     You're  here  to  work.     Catch  hold." 

When  we  came  to  examine  the  boat,  we  found  that 
she  could  not  carry  more  than  six  men  without  danger 
of  swamping.  Five  was  load  enough  for  her,  espe- 
cially as  there  was  rocky  landing  by  the  sides  of  the 
harbour  entrance. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Dick.  "  I  must  have  fifteen  hands 
for  this  job.  We  must  make  a  raft  and  tow."  The 
men  grumbled  again ;  but  they  set  to  work  in  the  dark- 
ness, and  built  a  very  creditable  raft  of  plank,  buoyed 
up  by  empty  casks. 

"  Load  your  pistols,"  said  Dick  to  me.  "  We'll  go  in 
now.  Muffle  all  your  rowlocks,  so  that  they  won't  grunt 
when  you  row.  You  on  the  raft,  paddle  with  any- 
thing you  can  find  to  paddle  with. —  We  may  take  it," 
he  said,  addressing  the  crew,  "  that  the  few  hands  in 


242  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

Mjiigs'  Creek  will  either  be  asleep  or  out  along  the 
rocks,  watching  for  guns  from  the  frigate." 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  that  you  may  not,  Dick.  If  there 
are  Indians  about,  as  we  know  there  were  only  last 
night,  there  will  be  a  keen  look-out  kept  on  the  land- 
ward side  of  the  sheds.  As  far  as  I  recollect,  the  creek 
is  like  a  sack,  with  a  few  sheds  on  the  left-hand  side 
half-way  down.  Your  best  plan  would  be  to  land  well 
away  from  the  creek,  and  attack  from  to  landward." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick,  "  from  the  south  of  the  landing, 
if  we're  allowed.  Then  rush  the  buildings.  Get  the 
stores,  if  there  are  any ;  and  then  pull  out  in  the  frigate's 
boats,  with  any  spoil  there  may  be." 

"  There  may  not  be  any,"  said  one  of  the  men. 
"  And  then  what  are  we  to  do  ?  " 

"  When  we  come  to  the  water,  we'll  build  a  bridge," 
said  Dick.  "  At  present  you  will  kindly  hold  your  jaw. 
I'll  do  all  the  doing  that's  needed,  never  you  fear." 

After  this  little  brush,  he  saw  that  all  the  rowlocks 
and  crutches  were  muffled,  so  that  our  passage  might 
be  noiseless.  "  Shove  off,"  he  said ;  "  and  you  ship- 
keepers,  wounded  as  you  are,  burn  a  blue  light  for  us 
if  you  see  three  pistol-flashes  from  the  sea.  Otherwise 
we  may  not  find  you.  Pull  easy,  sons.  We've  a  long 
pull  before  us.  There's  no  sense  in  getting  tired. 
Don't  talk.  Of  all  the  queer  things  in  this  world, 
sound  over  water  is  the  queerest.  You  never  can  tell 
how  far  it  will  travel  in  a  calm." 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         243 

VI 

The  men  stopped  talking.  They  settled  down  to 
pull,  in  a  long,  wearily-slow,  merchant-service  stroke, 
pausing  on  the  recover  and  the  half-stroke,  but  putting 
on  all  their  weight,  from  heels  to  neck.  The  darkness 
covered  away  the  ship  from  us  till  she  was  a  blur,  hiding 
a  few  stars,  a  darkness  against  which  the  phosphorus 
fileamed,  as  the  ripples  gurgled  against  her.  It  was 
deathly  still,  pulling  there  alone  on  the  sea.  The  pant- 
ing of  the  men,  the  swirl  of  the  oars,  the  whisking, 
flickering  dripping  of  the  drops  from  the  oar-blades, 
seemed  only  like  the  night  breathing,  a  great  breath 
from  the  darkness.  When  we  had  pulled,  as  it  seemed 
for  hours,  we  heard  very  far  away  a  ship's  bell  faintly 
making  eight,  and  a  deep-toned  fo'c'sle  bell  replying, 
faintly,  but  more  loudly. 

"  Midnight,"  said  Dick,  in  a  whisper.  "  That  comes 
from  the  frigate." 

By  this  time  we  were  near  the  shore,  quite  near 
enough  for  safety.  The  surf  was  pretty  bad,  as  it  so 
often  is  in  calm  weather.  We  were  in  a  ground-swell, 
which  rolled  up  big  and  oily,  to  lump  itself  down  on  the 
reef,  spreading  out  like  fire  as  it  smashed.  Roller  after 
roller  broke,  throwing  up  high  sprays. 

"  This  is  all  very  well,"  said  Dick.  "  But  there's 
no  landing  through  that.  We  must  chance  the  open- 
ing.    It's  safer  so." 

The  men  began  to  growl  that  it  was  what  they  had 
always  said,  there  was  no  landing.     Now  they  were 


244  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

going  to  be  taken  under  the  guns  of  everybody  in  the 
creek,  they  said,  and  have  their  heads  blown  olf  them 
by  a  lot  of  royal  pugs. 

"  Lie  down  on  the  raft,"  said  Dick,  "  and  keep  still 
till  you're  called.  Give  way  in  the  boat.  Take  your 
muffles  from  your  rowlocks.     I'm  commanding  here." 

Ten  minutes'  more  pulling  brought  us  off  the  creek's 
entrance,  towards  which  we  steered  at  a  good  pace. 
We  could  see  nothing  but  the  black  mass  of  land  broken 
by  the  harbour  mouth,  with  white  water  foaming  at 
its  base.  Then  Hunko,  who  stood  in  the  bows  looking 
out,  said  that  he  smelt  some  white  men,  smoking  cured 
tobacco.  Almost  at  the  same  instant  there  came  a  hail, 
in  a  rather  high-pitched  cultivated  voice. 

"  Boat  ahoy.  Oars,  there  in  the  boat.  What  are 
you?     Lay  on  your  oars,  or  I'll  fire  into  you." 

"  Sir,"  shouted  Dick,  without  a  second's  hesitation 
(he  must  have  made  up  his  tale  beforehand),  "we're 
from  Hog's  Creek  with  a  raft  of  wrought  wood.  We 
be  come  to  put  up  a  shed  for  Mr.  Carey  of  the  Grains." 

We  heard  the  lieutenant,  or  so  we  supposed  him  to 
be,  ask  a  man  near  by  him  something  about  this  man 
Mr.  Carey.  Dick  had  heard  the  name  mentioned  two 
days  before  as  that  of  a  wealthy  planter,  who  might 
care  to  buy  a  few  slaves  whenever  the  Marie  Gcdante 
had  any  such  "  goods  "  to  sell.  It  was  not  a  very  happy 
choice  for  us,  as  it  happened.  Mr.  Carey  was  not  so  far 
off  as  we  had  supposed. 

"  Oars  a  minute,"  the  lieutenant  cried  again. 
"  Fetch  Mr.  Carey,  one  of  you.     Lie  by,  you  in  the 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY  245 

boat,  till  I  tell  you.  Bring  your  raft  alongside  these 
rocks  here."  We  heard  a  man  moving  oif  up  the  creek 
at  a  smart  pace,  stumbling  through  the  scrub  like  a 
trotting  cow.  We  could  make  out  about  a  dozen  men 
in  the  gloom  there.  There  might  have  been  more  for  all 
we  could  tell. 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Dick  submissively ; 
"would  you  allow  us  to  pull  a  little  further  in?  The 
suck  here  is  setting  us  on  to  the  rocks ;  and  the  raft  is 
only  lightly  made,  sir.  If  your  honour  would  allow 
us,  sir." 

"  All  very  well,"  said  the  lieutenant  to  himself  (we 
could  hear  him  quite  plainly  in  the  stillness)  ;  "  but 
you  come  very  late  to  Mr.  Carey  of  the  Grains."  He 
raised  his  voice  and  hailed  Dick  again.  "  What  brings 
you  here  at  this  time  ?  Why  do  you  bring  the  wood  at 
this  time  of  night  ?     It's  after  midnight." 

"  Begging  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Dick,  "  we  hoped 
to  be  here  by  nine;  but  there  was  no  wind,  and  we've 
been  rowing  all  the  time.  And  what's  four  oars,  sir, 
against  a  soaking  drift  like  the  current  here  ?  " 

The  lieutenant  made  no  answer  to  this.  He  said 
something  in  a  low  voice  to  somebody  close  to  him. 
One  of  our  seamen  dug  his  oars  into  the  sea,  and  pulled 
a  couple  of  strokes. 

"  Keep  her  off,  Dick,"  he  said  gently.  "  We'll  be  on 
the  rocks  in  a  minute." 

"Oars,"  said  Dick  angrily.  "Wait  till  his  honour 
gives  us  leave."  He  paused,  and  then  called  out  to  the 
lieutenant. 


246  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

"  Begging  your  pardon,  sir,"  be  said,  "  might  we 
just  pull  up  alongside  the  jetty  further  in  ?  We  could 
be  searched  better  there,  if  your  honour  pleases.  We 
got  nothing  contraband,  though,  your  honour."  All 
this  he  said  in  the  very  accent  of  the  fishermen  of  those 
parts,  showing  in  his  voice  that  fear  of  being  searched, 
or  impressed,  which  I  think  all  the  coastwise  people  had 
in  those  bad  old  days  of  the  French  war. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  lieutenant ;  "  pull  ahead  to 
the  quay.  I'll  have  a  look  at  you  there.  Corporal," 
he  added  to  a  soldier  there,  "  fire  into  that  boat  if  you 
see  anything  suspicious." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  said  the  corporal,  cocking  his  musket. 
Two  other  men,  no  doubt  the  corporal's  guard,  cocked 
their  muskets  also. 

"  Pull  her  in,  boys,"  said  Dick  lightly.  "  Pull  her 
in.     Thank  you,  your  honour." 

I  was  just  at  his  elbow  when  he  spoke,  but  I  could 
detect  no  change  in  his  voice.  I  don't  know  what  he 
was  feeling;  but,  if  ever  a  man  was  in  a  tight  hole,  I 
think  Dick  was  at  that  moment.  He  said  nothing  more, 
while  we  pulled,  but  piped  up  a  cheery  whistle  of  "  Joan 
to  the  Maypole,"  which  jarred  on  our  tense  nerves  un- 
pleasantly. The  corporal  and  his  guard  followed  us 
along  the  shore. 

After  about  five  minutes  of  slow  pulling,  Dick  called 
to  the  hands,  loudly  and  clearly,  to  "  Oars  a  minute." 
As  the  oars  ceased  to  give  way  he  called  to  the  cor- 
poral. 

"Officer,"  he  cried,   "whereaway  is  the  jetty?     I 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         247 

can't  see  any  piles,  it's  tliat  dark.  Could  you  give  me 
a  lantern  to  bring  her  alongside  by  ?  " 

''  Give  him  a  flare-up  from  the  fire  there,"  said  the 
corporal  to  one  of  his  guard.  The  man  gave  his  musket 
to  his  fellow,  and  walked  out  into  the  light  of  a  now 
dying  bonfire. 

I  could  see  his  tattered  red  coat  and  ragged  hat 
bent  over  the  glow.  The  man  pulled  up  a  dead  shrub 
from  a  pile  of  fuel,  cut,  I  suppose,  for  breaming.  He 
thrust  it  into  the  embers,  and  held  it  aloft  as  it  blazed. 
By  the  light  of  that  torch  we  could  see  the  jetty  plainly, 
and  all  the  four  men  who  had  come  to  search  us.  They 
looked  like  actors  in  a  theatre  staring  from  a  stage  at 
the  audience.  As  we  very  well  knew,  they  were  too 
dazzled  by  the  glare  to  see  us.  They  had  the  light  in 
their  eyes.  Dick  cut  the  towline  from  the  boat,  and 
spoke  aloud  to  the  raft's  crew,  so  that  those  ashore 
might  hear. 

"  Look  alive  on  the  raft  there,"  he  said,  in  an  angry 
tone.     "  What  are  you  casting  off  for  ?  " 

"  Please,  sir,  the  line's  parted,"  said  some  one  in 
the  raft. 

The  lieutenant  came  more  plainly  into  the  glare  of 
the  blazing  shrub,  and  peered  down  upon  us,  but  with- 
out seeing  us,  save  as  a  blur  in  the  night. 

"  Get  the  end  aboard  and  come  alongside,"  he  said 
sharply ;  "  I'm  not  going  to  wait  all  night  for  you." 

"  Can  we  come  alongside,  your  honour  ? "  asked 
Dick,  with  winning  himibleness.  "  Are  there  no  boats 
lying  there  ? " 


248  LOST  ENDEAVOUE 

"  There's  the  cutter,  sir,"  said  the  corporal  to  the 
lieutenant. 

"  Haul  the  cutter  further  up  then.  Haul  her  up 
alongside  the  longboat  there,"  the  lieutenant  snapped. 
"  Put  down  your  firelock,  corporal.  And  you,  Jones, 
give  him  a  hand.     Haul  her  to  the  jetty-end." 

"  Come,  come,"  cried  Dick,  in  pretended  anger,  to 
the  men  in  the  raft,  as  the  corporal  and  his  man  began 
to  haul  the  boat  forward  to  make  room  for  us.  "  Chuck 
us  that  line  here,  and  let's  get  alongside.  We're  keep- 
ing the  gentleman  waiting.  Throw  it  here  now. 
What  are  you  waiting  for?  Has  the  ring-bolt  drawn 
out  ? "  This  he  said  to  prompt  the  raft's  crew  to  give 
him  the  answer  he  wanted. 

"  Yes,"  said  a  sorry  voice  on  the  raft,  "  the  ring's 
gone." 

"  Please,  your  honour,"  cried  Dick  again.  "  Could 
your  m.en  help  the  raft  alongside?  Her  tow-ring's 
broke,  and  we  can  do  nothing." 

"  I've  got  no  men,"  said  the  lieutenant,  fuming. 
"  Get  her  ashore  as  you  best  can." 

"  Paddle  her  in,  boys,"  said  Dick,  in  a  low  voice  to 
the  raft's  crew.     "  Land  below  us,  where  you  can." 

At  this  moment  we  heard  an  angry  bull-bellow  of  a 
voice  from  somewhere  ashore,  rapidly  coming  nearer. 

"  Lieutenant,"  it  roared.  "  What  do  you  mean  by 
this?  How  dare  you  call  me  out  of  bed  with  a  cock- 
and-bull  story  of  this  kind?  What's  this  nonsense? 
Are  you  drunk,  sir,  or  are  you  merely  incapable? 
Where's  this  boat  from  Hog's  Creek?     I've  no  wood 


I 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         249 

coming  from  Hog's  Creek.  And  you  have  the  audac- 
ity to  call  me  out  of  bed,  at  the  bidding  of  any  drunken 
lout  who  cares  to  impose  on  your  credulity.  I'll  report 
you  to  the  Governor,  sir." 

"  Ashore,  boys,"  said  Dick.  "  We're  blown  upon. 
Here's  old  Carey.  We've  stopped  too  long."  We 
bumped  the  boat  in  to  the  jetty  and  clambered  up  the 
piles  on  to  the  pier.  The  raft  came  ashore  in  shallower 
water  somewhere  astern  of  us. 

"  Corporal,"  cried  the  lieutenant  in  a  startled  yell. 
"  Secure  those  men.  Stand  back  there,  you.  Back 
into  your  boat,  or  I'll  run  you  through." 

The  man  with  the  torch  made  a  rush  for  his  gun, 
but  I  saw  a  dark  shape  topple  him  over,  amid  a  shower 
of  sparks.  I  saw  the  lieutenant's  sword  flash.  He  was 
quick  enough,  now  that  it  was  too  late  to  do  anything. 
Dick,  who  had  just  reached  the  pier  top,  ran  at  him, 
and  snapped  off  the  blade  of  his  sword  with  a  knock 
from  a  stretcher.  The  lieutenant  struck  at  Dick  with 
the  hilt,  a  short  arm  blow  which  had  no  force  behind 
it.  Dick  took  it  on  his  shoulder,  stooped,  caught  the 
man  round  the  knees  and  flung  him.  Somebody  pitched 
the  muskets  into-  the  sea.  I  distinctly  heard  the 
splashes,  just  as  another  somebody,  charging  in  the 
dark,  sent  me  sprawling  from  behind.  The  men  who 
were  hauling  the  cutter  forward  dropped  their  rope  with 
a  few  startled  exclamations.  I  heard,  "  Eh.  Eh." 
"  What  in  the  world  ?  "  from  Carey ;  a  "  Stand  clear," 
and  "  'No,  you  don't,"  from  some  coarser  voice,  I  think 
the  corporal's.     A  second  later  I  was  on  my  feet  again, 


250  LOST  EINDEAYOUE 

and  there  was  Dick  trussing  up  a  kicking  lieutenant, 
in  a  deep  silence,  as  though  the  night  were  intently  lis- 
tening. It  had  been  done  with  a  rush.  Dick  had  taken 
them  at  the  very  instant.  It  had  all  ended  as  quietly 
as  a  church  service.  There  was  no  more  noise  than  a 
sort  of  dull  helpless  drumming  on  the  ground,  like  that 
huddled  drumming  that  a  dying  rabbit  makes  with  its 
body. 

"  We've  done  better  than  I  thought,"  said  Dick. 
"  Now,  corporal,  I'm  going  to  take  out  your  gag.  If 
you  let  out  a  squeal  I  shall  cut  your  throat.  Here's 
my  knife.  Feel  its  point.  Well.  Be  warned.  I'm 
not  joking.     I^ow  then." 

He  bade  one  of  the  men  (I  think  it  was  Silvestre, 
the  mulatto)  take  out  the  gag,  which  the  man  did  at 
once.  The  corporal  made  no  noise  when  he  was  re- 
leased, except  a  sort  of  spitting  noise  as  he  got  rid 
of  the  tarry  dust  of  the  old  sail  which  had  choked 
him. 

"  Well,"  said  Dick,  "  I'm  pleased  you've  got  sense 
enough  to  hold  your  peace.  What's  this  lieutenant's 
name  ?  Oh,  you  won't  tell,  won't  you  ?  Feel  the  point 
then.  One.  Two.  Thr — ."  (You  must  note  that 
Dick  made  no  attempt  to  torture  the  corporal.  He 
only  pretended  to  do  so,  to  the  end  that,  afterwards,  the 
lieutenant  might  not  blame  the  man  for  betraying  se- 
crets, if  any  were  to  be  betrayed.) 

"  I  won't  tell  you,"  said  the  corporal  sourly. 

"  Try  Carey  then,"  said  Dick  easily,  to  the  man  who 
sat  on  that  foaming  gentleman's  chest.     "  Dig  a  knife 


CHAELES  HARDING'S  STORY         251 

into  Mr.  Carey.  What's  the  lieutenant's  name,  Mr. 
Carey  ?  Don't  bellow,  sir.  We  don't  want  to  hurt  you. 
What's  the  lieutenant's  name  ?  " 

"  Atkins,"  said  Carey.  "  And  I'll  see  you  hanged, 
you  ruffian.  You  shall  dangle  for  this,  if  there's  any 
law  in  the  land."  He  was  one  of  the  richest  planters 
on  that  side  of  Virginia.  It  was  said  at  the  time  that 
he  owned  as  much  land  as  the  whole  of  Wales.  I  had 
heard  vaguely,  from  farm-hands  and  the  like,  that  he 
lived  in  great  state.  He  had  built  himself  a  house  with 
a  gilded  dome  (I  believe),  which  was  the  talk  of  all 
America  in  those  days.  Afterwards,  when  I  was  with 
the  logwood  cutters  at  One  Bush  Key,  I  heard  that  he 
was  known  as  old  King  Golden-Cap,  on  account  of  this 
house.  He  was  a  choleric  old  man,  with  a  great  sense 
of  his  own  importance.  To  be  lying  on  his  back,  chew- 
ing a  clue  of  an  old  sail,  while  a  pirate  picked  his 
Adam's  apple  with  a  dagger,  was  something  new  to  him. 
He  resented  it.  "  Wait,"  he  said,  gurgling.  "  Wait. 
You  filthy  ruffians.     Only  wait." 

"  We'll  wait,"  said  Dick.  "  And  how  many  men  are 
down  by  the  sea  there  ?  " 

"  Enough  to  swing  you  all  at  a  rope's  end  before 
dawn,"  said  Mr.  Carey. 

"  Jim,"  said  Dick.  "  Lieutenant  Atkins's  compli- 
ments, and  the  hands  are  to  extend  in  open  order  along 
the  coast,  to  the  southward,  to  watch  for  an  intended 
landing  of  smuggled  goods.  Say  that  the  boat's  crew 
just  taken  are  smugglers.  That's  ourselves,  remember. 
You  are  a  farm-hand,  sent  with  a  message.     Lively 


252  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

now.     Get  the  pugs  (as  the  King's  seamen  were  always 
called  then)  out  of  the  way,  pronto.     Kun." 

A  hand  started  off  smartly  down  to  the  sea  to  send 
the  other  watchers  (if  any  were  still  about  the  creek's 
mouth)  away  from  that  part,  so  that  we  might  creep 
out  without  challenge.  I  remember  thinking  how  ready 
and  bold  the  messenger  would  have  to  prove  himself, 
and  how  wild  a  thing  it  was  for  Dick  to  send  a  mes- 
sage of  the  kind.  "  Suppose,"  I  thought,  "  there  is  a 
lieutenant  superior  to  this  Atkins.  Or  suppose  that 
the  order  just  given  countermands  an  order  left  by  the 
captain.  Or  suppose,  what  is  very  probable,  that  At- 
kins is  a  false  name,  given  by  Carey  to  deceive  us." 
ISTo  one  paid  much  attention  to  me  at  the  moment.  I 
dare  say  I  could  have  got  away  then  had  I  tried.  I 
had  no  thought  of  bolting,  curiously  enough.  I  had 
too  lively  a  fear  of  being  hanged  without  trial,  if  taken 
or  forced  into  the  living  death  of  the  man-of-war,  among 
pressed  men  and  branded  criminals.  You  may  think 
that  I  was  very  young  and  foolish  to  fear  that.  Was 
I  ?  I  was  an  innocent  boy,  torn  from  his  home  by 
kidnappers,  sold  into  slavery,  and  now  torn  from  his 
slavery  by  pirates.  I  was  entitled  to  every  charity  and 
consideration.  But  how  much  charity  and  considera- 
tion was  I  likely  to  get,  out  there  in  the  wilds,  from 
angry  naval  officers  like  this  man  on  the  ground,  or 
from  furious,  mad  planters  like  Mr.  Carey  ?  If  I  had 
been  taken,  and  had  had  to  tell  my  story,  how  many 
would  have  believed  it,  do  you  suppose  ?  The  very  un- 
likeliness of  the  tale  was  against  its  being  believed. 


CHAKLES  HAKDING'S  STORY         253 

VII 

"Well.  There  was  not  much  time  for  these  reflec- 
tions. Even  while  I  thought  them,  Dick  forced  open 
the  door  of  the  great  store-shed,  where  M>mgs  had  once 
stored  his  tobacco.  There  were  some  ship's  lanterns 
hanging  outside  the  door  of  the  shed.  These  were 
lighted  from  the  bonfire  so  that  we  could  look  about 
us.  There  were  sails  in  plenty,  lying  on  the  shed- 
floor  like  monster  snakes  bulged  with  food.  The  frigate 
had  landed  all  her  foul-weather  suit,  and  the  greater 
part  of  the  thinner,  tropic  suit,  now  half  worn  through. 
I  suppose  that  the  sails  there  would  have  come  to  some 
hundreds  of  pounds  in  taxpayers'  money.  They  were 
well  worth  that  to  us.  I  think  that  within  twenty  sec- 
onds of  the  door  being  opened,  a  great  heavy  course 
(or  lower  sail  for  the  mast  of  a  square-rigged  vessel) 
was  being  lighted  out  on  to  men's  shoulders  and  borne 
staggeringly  to  the  edge  of  the  jetty,  where  the  frigate's 
long-boat  lay  beside  the  cutter.  The  sail  was  tailed 
carefully  into  the  boat  by  the  light  of  a  couple  of  blaz- 
ing shrubs,  one  of  which  was  given  to  me  to  hold.  I 
remember  peering  over  the  dark  jetty-edge  to  see  the  sail 
coiling  down  length  by  length,  nine  or  ten  feet  at  a 
time,  while  the  dead  leaves  crinkled  with  fire  fell  upon 
it  from  the  shrubs,  lighting  the  cringles  in  the  rop- 
ing. It  was  falling  so  exactly  like  a  snake  that  a  very 
little  would  have  made  me  scream  out,  just  like  a  girl. 
A  topsail  followed  the  course,  and  other  sails  followed 
the  topsail.     The  men  dragged  out  sail  after  sail,  and 


254  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

passed  them  down  into  the  boats.  Bush  after  bush 
burned  away  in  my  hands  to  fiery  stumps ;  and,  al- 
though the  time  seemed  long,  it  was  not  really  long, 
for  the  men  worked  very  hard  and  did  much  in  a  few 
minutes.  The  sails  of  the  boat  were  hoisted.  They 
wavered  and  unfolded,  gleaming  out  whitish  and  dark- 
ening as  they  moved  above  the  heaps  of  canvas  stowed 
along  the  thwarts.  The  boats  were  full  of  sail  now. 
Coils  of  rope  were  being  passed  down,  with  bundles  of 
neatly  stopped  and  ticketed  running  rigging,  which  had 
been  laid  away  in  a  corner  of  the  shed.  The  men  were 
just  tossing  down  some  of  these,  making  more  noise  in 
their  excitement  than  was  wise,  when  the  messenger 
came  running  back  to  Dick  to  tell  him  that  the  pugs 
were  coming. 

"  Did  you  give  my  message  ?  "  said  Dick. 

"  N'o,"  he  said,  very  candidly,  "  I  didn't.  I  didn't 
go  near  them.     I  was  afraid." 

"  Put  out,"  said  Dick  to  us  torch-bearers.  "  And 
dash  some  water  on  the  fires.  Into  the  boats  and  shove 
oif.  We've  bungled  it,  I  shouldn't  wonder.  What 
were  you  afraid  of  ?  You're  a  nice  one  to  come  out  in 
the  dark  with.  What's  this?  Oh,  the  lieutenant. 
Quick.     Bundle  him  to  one  side." 

The  lieutenant  was  thrust  aside  without  ceremony. 
The  men  were  scared  in  good  earnest.  People  were 
marching  slowly  up  towards  us,  coming  by  the  path  by 
which  the  corporal  had  come.  In  the  stillness  of  the 
night  we  could  hear  their  voices  plainly.  They  were 
walking  as  men  walk  in  the  night  watches  at  sea.     We 


CHAELES  HARDIXG'S  STORY         255 

dropped  down  into  the  boats.  The  last  thing  Dick  did 
before  he  shoved  oli"  was  to  pull  out  the  plug  of  the  boat 
in  which  we  had  come.  She  must  have  filled  and  sunk 
in  a  minute  or  less. 

"  Shove  ott,"  said  Dick,  "  and  oh,  paddle  light,  and 
send  us  a  good  fair  wind  to  blow  us  clear  of  this." 

The  oars  dipped  and  drove  us  forward.  "  Muffle 
your  rowlocks,"  said  Dick,  "  and  pull  across  to  the  other 
side  of  the  creek." 

VIII 

As  we  paddled  across  with  our  spoils  we  regretted 
that  we  had  left  no  light  behind  us  to  show  us  how 
many  sailors  were  coming.  One  or  two  might  have 
been  secured  without  trouble;  but  we  knew  that  they 
were  more  than  that.  Perhaps  four,  perhaps  forty. 
How  can  one  tell  in  the  dark?  And  frightened  men 
can  never  judge  anything.  Dick  muttered  to  himself 
that  it  all  depended  on  whether  they  stumbled  on  the 
lieutenant  or  not.  We  got  across  to  the  other  side  of 
the  creek,  and  turned  towards  the  sea.  "We  were  all 
in  the  cutter,  towing  the  long-boat.  Rowing  as  they 
were,  with  their  faces  turned  aft,  the  men  watched  the 
site  of  the  jetty,  where  somebody,  as  we  could  hear, 
was  striking  a  flint  with  a  steel.  The  fires  had  been 
dashed  with  water.  Even  pirates,  you  see,  showed  a 
little  sense  at  times. 

Presently  we  saw  a  light  placed  in  a  lantern.  The 
men  there  moved  about  in  a  dim  uncertainty  of  candle- 


256  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

light.  We  could  hear  their  voices  talking  about  the 
extinction  of  the  fires.  A  grutt'  voice  called  aloud  to 
the  corporal,  in  a  blurring  Gloucester  accent,  to  ask 
if  the  lieutenant  were  along  there.  The  corporal  was 
past  speech.  The  man  (I  suppose  a  boatswain  or 
boatswain's  mate)  got  no  answer.  He  said  something, 
probably  about  the  delights  of  being  a  soldier,  and  an- 
other man  laughed  a  little. 

"  Pull  hard  now,"  wdiispered  Dick.  "  And  here's  the 
wind." 

A  puff  of  wind  came  down  the  creek  to  us.  The 
sail  leaped,  straining  its  sheet,  and  driving  the  boat 
forward.  On  the  instant  we  bumped  into  a  half-tide 
rock  with  a  shock  which  flung  us  all  down  among  the 
bottom-boards.  The  long-boat,  surging  forward  on 
her  towline,  struck  the  cutter  hard  on  the  quarter,  and 
nearly  flung  her  over.  Before  we  had  shoved  clear  of 
the  rock  a  voice  hailed  us  from  the  jetty. 

"  What  is  that  there  ?  Who  are  you  out  in  the  creek 
there  ? " 

"  Liteutenant  Atkins,"  cried  Dick.  "  I'm  pulling 
out  to  the  frigate  with  important  information." 

There  was  no  answer  for  a  few  seconds.  The  war- 
rant officer  was  turning  the  matter  over  in  his  mind, 
not  liking  it  particularly,  and  finding  it  very  odd. 

"  Begging  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  hailed,  "  will  you 
just  pull  over  here,  sir,  for  me  to  make  sure  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  cried  Dick.  "  Pull,  starboard.  Give 
way,  port.  Pull  in  there."  In  a  low  voice  he  bade  the 
men  pull  for  their  lives  to  open  water.     It  was  a  few 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         257 

seconds  later,  when  way  was  on  the  boat  again,  so  that 
we  had  the  sea  in  fair  view,  that  the  boatswain  trod  on 
the  lieutenant  (as  I  suppose;  but  it  may  have  been  the 
corporal),  and  learned  what  we  were.  In  just  five  sec- 
onds more  he  was  blazing  at  us  with  his  boarding- 
pistols.  Men  were  rushing  down  to  the  shore,  crying 
out  to  the  sentries  there  to  fire  at  us.  A  slug  struck 
the  long-boat.  The  wind  caught  us  again  in  a  brisk 
gust,  giving  us  good  way.  A  couple  of  muskct-balls 
went  through  the  sail.  A  voice  shouted  to  haul  up  the 
sail. 

"  Drop  your  guns,"  came  the  cry.  "  Drop  your  guns. 
Haul  the  chain  across." 

"  Good  lack,"  said  Dick  with  a  groan,  "  they've  got 
a  chain  across  the  creek  mouth.  Now,  I  suppose,  we're 
done  in  good  earnest.  Pull,  boys,  pull.  There  goes 
their  capstan.  We're  caught  like  rats  if  you  don't." 
The  pawls  on  the  capstan  began  to  click  as  the  seamen 
hove  it  round  to  drag  the  guarding  chain  across  the 
mouth  of  the  harbour. 

"  Shall  we  fire  ?  "  said  one  of  our  men. 

"  No,"  said  Dick.  "  The  flashes  would  show  them 
where  we  are.  Pull,  boys.  Here  comes  the  wind. 
We're  saved." 

One  of  those  strong  dangerous  gusts  which  blow  down 
gullies  and  glens  to  the  sea  came  fiercely  on  to  us,  heav- 
ing us  all  to  one  side.  The  water  clucked  and  talked 
round  us.  The  broken  water,  where  the  creek  current 
met  the  sea,  shook  us  and  splashed  us.  We  charged 
across  it   gallantly,   plunging  our   tow.     The   capstan 


258  LOST  EXDEAVOUR 

ceased  clicking.  I  fancy  that  the  men  there  recognised 
that  thej  could  never  get  the  chain  across  in  time  to 
stop  us.  Instead  of  heaving  they  ran  to  their  muskets, 
which  had  been  piled  somewhere  near  the  sea.  They 
were  a  well-drilled  company.  Before  we  cleared  the 
land  they  got  down  among  the  rocks  as  near  to  us  as 
they  could,  and  gave  us  a  smart  volley.  It  must  have 
been  fired  pretty  much  at  a  random,  for  we  could  have 
been  nothing  more  to  them  than  a  black  shadow  flitting 
over  the  lower  stars,  jet  it  had  disastrous  results  to  us. 
It  took  effect  upon  the  cutter  near  the  bows ;  indeed,  it 
came  near  to  missing  us  altogether,  for  I  think  no  bul- 
lets passed  abaft  her  amidships  section.  Forward  of 
that,  it  destroyed  us.  Both  the  bow  oars  were  killed 
outright.  The  starboard  second  bow  died  in  a  few 
minutes.  His  fellow,  pulling  on  the  same  thwart,  and 
hit  perhaps  by  the  same  bullet,  lingered  unconscious  for 
two  days,  and  then  drowsed  away  to  death,  knowing 
nothing  of  what  had  happened.  The  second  midship 
oar  had  his  right  arm  broken. 

You  may  have  seen  birds  or  rabbits  shot  in  the  fields, 
and  wondered  at  the  suddenness  with  which  the  change 
from  life  to  death  comes.  In  one  second  the  creature 
is  running  or  flying,  full  of  splendid  energy.  In  the 
next  it  is  a  crumpled  and  bloody  heap  of  feathers  or 
fur,  batting  the  ground  while  its  eyes  film.  The  change 
in  the  boat  was  like  that.  For  one  second  we  were  all 
pulling  and  straining,  hearing  the  feet  of  the  seamen, 
and  the  locks  clicking  and  the  flints  snapping.  In  the 
next  second,  before  the  roar  of  the  guns  was  gone,  vio- 


CHAELES  HARDmO'S  STORY         259 

lent  death  was  among  us,  and  one  of  us  was  crying  out 
that  he  was  hit.  There  was  nothing  to*  announce  death, 
only  a  sharp  little  thudding  noise  made  by  the  bullets 
as  they  struck.  Yet  in  that  second  there  was  all  that 
shocking  change,  and  those  men  had  gone  to  their  ac- 
counts, in  the  midst  of  all  that  violence,  fresh  from 
murder  and  robbery.  I  think  that  that  moment  was 
one  of  the  most  terrible  ever  spent  by  me.  It  made  me 
very  lonely ;  I  cannot  describe  it  better  than  that  —  very 
lonely,  and  wanting  to  cry.  What  moved  me  most  was 
seeing  them  toss  the  dead  men  overboard,  there  and 
then,,  with  neither  prayer  nor  feeling,  only  a  grumble 
at  their  weight.  It  was  that  callous  toss  over  the  side 
which  seemed  to  brand  it  into  me  that  I  was  shut  away 
now  from  my  own  party  in  life,  the  party  of  order  and 
honesty.  I  was  being  carried  away,  out  into  the  dark, 
with  outlaws  whose  hearts  were  like  millstones.  Life 
had  been  very  cruel  to  me  so  far.  I  remember  think- 
ing of  a  little  brook  at  home  which  had  the  property 
of  crusting  the  leaves  which  dro})ped  into  it  with  a 
coat  of  lime  till  they  were  really  leaves  of  lime,  with 
their  true  leaf-like  qualities  gone  from  them.  I  should 
be  like  one  of  those  leaves  —  the  human  being  in  me 
dead,  and  all  the  added  callousness  and  cruelty  crusting 
me  over  till  they  were  all  the  nature  of  me. 

IX 

After  two  hours  of  sailing  seawards,  drenched  with 
the  spray  from  the  cutter's  plunges  and  the  wash  off 


260  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

the  bows  of  the  longboat,  we  fired  our  pistols  in  the  air 
by  way  of  signal.  Those  in  the  Marie  Galante,  seeing 
the  flashes,  burned  a  blue  light,  and  the  frigate,  think- 
ing that  we  might  be  from  shore,  fired  a  gun,  showing 
her  position  too.  We  got  aboard  the  Marie  Oalante 
somewhere  in  the  first  early  greyness,  when  the  sea  was 
showing  like  a  dull  sheet  of  steel,  heaving  towards  the 
observer  and  sinking  from  him.  Voices  hailed  us  from 
the  black  bulk  of  the  ship  telling  us  to  give  the  word  if 
we  didn't  want  to  be  blown  out  of  the  sea.  Then  we 
drew  alongside,  hooked  on,  and,  by  Dick's  direction, 
rigged  up  a  yardarm  tackle  to  clear  the  boats  of  the 
spoil.  The  man  with  the  broken  arm  was  told  to  get 
out  of  the  way.  No  one  was  going  to  bother  about  him, 
they  said.  By  the  time  we  were  up  on  the  main-yard, 
bending  the  stolen  sail,  the  frigate  was  within  a  mile 
of  us,  standing  over  to  us,  with  her  men  at  quarters. 
I  was  up  on  the  yard  with  Dick,  and  got  my  ears  cuffed 
very  shrewdly  for  looking  round  at  her  instead  of  help- 
ing in  the  work.  We  got  the  main-sail  set  before  she 
tried  her  heavy  guns  on  us.  In  fact,  I  don't  think  that 
we  had  so  much  as  a  shot  from  her  until  we  had  rigged 
a  fore-topsail,  and  begun  to  hold  our  own  in  speed  in 
the  freshening  wind.  Then  there  came  a  strange  whis- 
tling screech,  which  I  had  never  heard  before.  It  was 
not  unlike  the  tearing  of  linen  rags ;  but  no  sound  known 
to  me  is  quite  like  it,  for  there  is  something  eerie  and 
terrifying  in  it  which  other  sounds  want  of.  The  shot 
which  made  it  passed  astern,  somewhere  close  to  us. 
After  it  had  gone,  as  the  boom  of  the  report  reached 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         261 

us,  I  saw  a  pillar  of  water  leap  from  the  sea,  then  an- 
other, then  another,  dazzlingly  white,  as  the  shot  struck 
the  sea  with  blows  before  it  sank.  We  did  not  pause 
in  our  work  because  of  the  shooting.  Firing  at  a  mov- 
ing target  at  such  a  range  is  not  very  dangerous  to  the 
target.  We  sent  up  a  third  sail,  and  bent  it.  This 
third  sail  was  soon  seen  to  be  enough  to  keep  us  out  of 
danger.  We  began  cheering  whenever  a  shot  came  near 
us.  We  began  now  to  draw  away  from  the  frigate, 
though  we  could  see  her  men  pouring  water  on  the 
sails,  and  playing  the  hose  on  the  courses  so  as  to  keep 
up  with  us  if  she  possibly  could.  She  lost  way  at  every 
shot,  for  in  order  to  fire  she  had  to  yaw  out  of  her  course. 
At  last  we  saw  that  we  had  won  the  race.  She  saw  it 
too,  and  gave  up.  We  saw  her  yards  swinging  as  she 
hauled  more  to  the  wind  in  order  to  beat  back  to  the 
creek.  Standing  on  the  poop  to  see  the  last  of  her,  I 
saw  her  great  yellow  hull,  with  its  blue  top-works,  gleam- 
ing with  the  wet  as  she  came  round.  Her  flag  blew 
clear,  in  a  white  ruffle  marked  with  red.  She  surged 
down,  creaming  her  catheads,  then  rose  with  a  light 
airy  roll,  heaving  her  side  out.  Then,  as  I  watched 
her,  her  side  spurted  fire,  and,  to  my  intense  surprise, 
the  air  screamed  suddenly  with  flying  iron.  A  yard 
of  the  poop  rail  near  me  leaped  up  and  overboard,  spin- 
ning like  a  buzz-saw.  Some  blocks  came  down  from 
aloft.  A  groove  gouged  itself  before  my  eyes  in  the 
dirty  deck-planks,  marked  with  so  many  footprints. 
Something  white,  I  suppose  a  bit  of  wood,  struck  my 
finger  a  sharp  tap,  numbing  it  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 


262  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

It  was  all  over  in  a  few  seconds.  A  dozen  iron  round- 
shot  had  carried  to  us  from  the  broadside,  all  apparently 
hitting  or  flying  over  the  poop.  No  great  harm  was 
done,  nor  were  we  fired  at  again.  But  the  sudden  hur- 
tling of  that  destruction  taught  me  something  of  the 
power  and  terror  which  lie  controlled  in  a  gun.  I  have 
never  seen  a  gim  since  without  having  in  mind  the 
vision  of  that  broken  wood  flying  up  suddenly  from  a 
seascape  all  peace  and  beauty. 


When  w^e  had  escaped  from  the  frigate  we  set  a  course 
for  the  Windward  Passage.  The  hands  wanted  to  know 
where  we  were  going.  They  wanted  to  go  to  Port 
Eoyal,  they  said.  They  came  aft  in  a  body  to  ask  us  to 
put  in  to  Jamaica,  "  where  their  friends  lived."  Dick, 
Little  Theo,  and  I  debated  it  down  below.  We  had  no 
very  clear  prospect  of  getting  anywhere  in  that  old  ship, 
battered  as  she  was.  In  our  hearts,  though,  we  felt  that 
before  all  things  we  should  go  to  Boca  del  Drago.  The 
plan  of  the  kingdom  was  not  ruined,  we  said.  We 
would  go  there.  We  w^ould  beat  those  thieves.  We 
would  defend  that  treasury.  Then,  having  saved  it 
from  sacrilege,  we  would  carry  the  gold  to  Nicolai,  and 
band  ourselves  to  set  Theo  on  the  throne.  It  seemed 
so  simple  a  thing  to  plan.  The  hands,  to  whom  we  con- 
fided something  of  it,  consented.  We  were  all  going  to 
make  Theo  a  king,  and  to  serve  him  as  ministers  and 
generals. 


CHAELES  HARDING'S  STORY         263 

This  was  my  belief,  too,  whenever  I  was  in  Theo's 
presence.  But  when  I  got  away  by  myself,  after  some 
rough  treatment  by  the  hands  or  some  agony  of  labour, 
it  all  seemed  the  maddest  business.  Then  I  thought 
that  I  was  in  the  Ship  of  Fools,  going  to  Gotham,  and 
that  Theo,  brave,  kind  fellow  as  he  was,  was  after  all 
only  a  madman,  driven  mad  by  fever  and  cruelty. 
When  I  thought  these  things,  wretched  boy  that  I  was, 
I  used  to  long  for  some  English  frigate  to  capture  us 
and  take  us  home. 


XI 

I  need  not  say  much  about  our  passage.  It  was  a 
nightmare  to  us  all,  I  think.  Five  of  the  wounded  men 
took  fever,  from  drinking  or  careless  treatment,  and 
died,  after  a  brief  while  of  raving,  and  were  tossed  over- 
board without  a  prayer.  The  leak  gave  us  trouble  in- 
termittently, in  spite  of  the  new  mat.  Sometimes  it 
would  terrify  us  all  by  gaining  suddenly,  in  the  middle 
of  the  night  perhaps,  two  feet,  or  even  two  feet  six; 
so  that  we  had  to  pump  and  bale  for  dear  life,  till  the 
hands  swooned  at  the  brakes  and  lay  on  deck  senseless, 
with  the  bright  brine  running  over  them.  Then  she 
would  run  dry  for  a  season,  and  leak  no  more  perhaps 
for  two  or  three  days.  "  Ah,"  those  fools  would  say, 
"  a  fish  has  got  into  the  seam  " ;  or  "  Bill's  blanket's 
done  for  her."  Then  they  would  laugh  and  sing,  and 
grow  mutinous  and  threatening,  till  the  next  scare  hum- 
bled them.     We  were  dreadfully  short-handed  all  the 


264  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

time.  As  far  as  I  remember,  we  had  only  eight  men 
in  a  watch.  Of  those,  one  (or  two,  for  she  steered  very 
wild  with  the  wind  at  all  aft)  had  to  be  at  the  helm,  and 
another  aloft  looking  out.  That  left  us,  at  the  most, 
six  hands  to  do  all  the  work  of  the  ship,  such  as  pump- 
ing, bracing  the  yards,  setting  up  the  rigging,  and  furl- 
ing and  loosing  sail,  etc.  Six  were  not  enough  to  brace 
the  lower  yards  up ;  so  at  every  shift  of  wind  all  hands 
had  to  be  called.  They  came  out  grumbling  and  curs- 
ing, perhaps  twenty  minutes  after  being  called;  then 
when  the  work  was  done  they  went  below  again  grum- 
bling, and  when  they  were  wanted  on  deck  again,  they 
would  refuse,  even  though  it  was  their  rightful  watch. 

"  They  were  going  to  have  their  lawful  sleep,"  they 
said.  "  They  wouldn't  come  on  deck  till  the  time  they 
had  lost  had  been  made  good." 

There  was  continual  fighting  among  the  men  about 
this  question  of  sleep.  Nor  can  I  wonder;  for  the 
want  of  sleep  makes  men  crusty,  and  sudden  awakenings 
make  crusty  men  savage,  and,  to  a  savage  man,  any  lit- 
tle momentary  injustice  is  cause  enough  for  a  fight. 
They  might  have  overlooked  the  over- work  (though  we 
were  all  taxed  to  the  limits  of  our  strength  by  the  almost 
incessant  pumping)  had  they  been  properly  fed ;  but  we 
were  all  half  starved  all  the  time ;  for  Doggy  Sam  (his 
real  name  was  Samuel  Pointer,  and  a  pointer,  as  these 
wits  agreed,  was  a  dog)  had  taken  most  of  the  ship's 
provisions.  We  had  a  little  bad  beef  and  a  little  bad 
bread,  nothing  more,  till  some  of  the  men,  grown  des- 
perate, trapped  the  rats  and  ate  them.     I  tried  this  mess 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         265 

once  myself,  but  it  made  me  sick  (perhaps  my  rat  was 
a  bad  one),  and  I  never  tried  it  again.  The  other  men 
used  to  call  it  sea-chicken,  and  pretended  that  they  liked 
it.  To  be  short  of  food  was  bad  enough;  but  our 
greatest  hardship  was  want  of  water.  We  were  going 
south  into  the  hot  latitudes,  when  a  man  craves  for 
drink,  even  though  it  be  of  the  kind  carried  in  ship's 
water-casks,  continually.  We  were  on  an  allowance  of 
water  almost  from  the  day  we  sailed  —  a  pint  a  man  a 
day,  not  a  drop  more,  and  this  in  the  hot  weather  to 
men  engaged  in  hard  physical  exercise  through  all  day 
and  half  the  night.  One  day  a  man  stole  my  allow- 
ance from  me.  I  had  put  it  in  my  hook-pot,  below  in 
the  'tween-decks,  and  when  I  came  below  for  my  dinner 
that  day  it  had  all  been  drunk ;  so  that  I  would  have  gone 
thirsty  had  not  Dick  made  all  hands  give  me  what  he 
called  "  dips "  (that  is,  mouthfuls)  from  their  allow- 
ances. Afterwards  the  thief  was  caught,  in  the  act  of 
drinking  another  man's  allowance.  We  tried  him  sol- 
emnly in  the  cabin,  in  what  Dick  called  the  "  Brethren's 
Way."  It  was  a  rough  but  fair  trial.  They  beat  him 
severely,  after  sentence  had  passed  —  two  cuts  with  a 
belt  apiece ;  so  that  that  kind  of  theft  ceased  among  us. 
The  coming  down  and  finding  my  precious  water  gone 
was  as  bad  to  me  that  day  as  the  loss  of  his  crown  is 
to  a  king.  I  think  that  none  of  us  aboard  there  thought 
of  anything  except  of  water  —  springs  of  water  bub- 
bling up  out  of  the  ground ;  brooks  of  water  going  over 
pebbles ;  quiet  pools  and  lakes,  cold  and  clear ;  or  bright, 
abundant  waterfalls  splashing  the  naked  skin  and  the 


266  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

spray  wetting  the  lips.  When  we  slept  we  dreamed  of 
water.  Either  it  was  raining  down  on  us  from  heaven, 
filling  the  main-deck  and  the  awnings  and  our  own  dry 
throats,  or  we  were  at  a  pond  or  river,  wading  out,  as 
the  cattle  will  when  thirsty,  to  get  wet  before  the  luxury 
of  drinking.  Then  we  woke,  or  were  wakened,  to  our 
mess  of  dry  salt  beef,  boiled  in  salt  water,  and  to  our 
wearisome  heaving  of  the  pump-brakes,  up  and  down, 
up  and  down,  under  a  sky  like  blue  flame,  above  a  sea 
like  glaring  brass.  It  was  painful  in  another  way. 
You  may  think  it  childish,  but  one  of  the  worst  torments 
of  that  thirsty  time  was  the  memory  of  days  at  home 
when  I  had  had  plenty  of  water,  and  had  bathed  in  it 
even,  and  wasted  it,  and  flung  it  at  my  schoolfellows 
in  one  of  our  water  fights  as  we  called  them,  and  poured 
it  away  on  flowers,  and  thought  nothing  of  letting  a 
tap  run.  I  used  to  think  of  these  things  with  agony 
day  after  day.  I  can  truly  declare  that  from  that  time 
until  this  I  have  never  wasted  any  water,  nor  can  I 
bear  to  see  others  waste  it.  I  see  people  treating  it  as 
a  common  thing  enough ;  but  to  me  it  will  never  be  that 
again.  I  had  my  drilling  long  ago,  and  a  sharp  drill- 
ing it  was.     To  continue. 

XII 

I  do  not  know  how  long  the  passage  was.  I  suppose 
it  lasted  a  couple  of  weeks.  To  me  it  was  like  one  long 
term  of  misery,  throughout  which  the  pumps  were 
heaving  and  Jieaving.     Up  with  a  hard  heave,  down 


CHARLES  HARDIIS-Q'S  STORY         267 

with  a  jerking  bang,  they  went.  The  water  spurted  and 
jetted  in  a  bright  little  fount.  The  men  cursed  and 
panted,  snapping  at  each  other  just  like  wolves.  "  Put 
your  weight  on,  you." 

"  I  am  putting  my  weight  on." 

"  You're  not.     You're  leaving  it  all  to  me." 

"  You  call  me  a  liar,  and  I'll  give  you  something'll 
teach  you." 

"  Hijo  de  puta." 

"  Cabron." 

"  Drop  it,  you  swine.  Pump,  you.  Stick  your 
knives  into  each  other  when  you  get  ashore." 

Then  the  knives  would  be  put  back,  and  the  men, 
still  glaring  at  each  other,  would  go  on  with  that  labour 
at  the  pumps.  You  say  that  labour  is  a  noble  thing. 
I  say  that  it  makes  a  man  a  wild  beast  if  it  be  not  pro- 
portioned and  relieved.  That  was  a  bad  time  in  the 
Marie  Galante. 

At  last  one  day  when  Dick,  Theo,  and  I  were  alone 
in  the  cabin,  there  came  a  cry  from  aloft  of  "  Land 
—  oh  " ;  and  immediately  after  a  cry  of  "  Sail  —  oh." 
Low  down  on  the  starboard  horizon  there  was  something 
like  a  cloud  with  gleams  on  it. 

"  There,  boy,"  said  Dick,  "  that  is  the  island  of  Cuba, 
that  cloudy  thing." 

Something  white  flashed  out  against  it,  and  then  was 
lost  even  as  I  stared  at  it. 

"And  that,"  he  added,  looking  through  his  glass, 
"  is  a  brig,  I  fancy.  A  fine  fast  brig,  making  a  pass- 
age from  the  Havana.     Theo,  she  is  crossing  our  bow." 


268  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

"  Yes,"  said  Theo.  "  We  shall  save  tlie  temple  yet. 
We  shall  get  to  the  island  before  them." 

After  that  we  all  went  on  deck,  and  laboured  at  wet- 
ting the  sails,  to  give  us  speed.  We  had  been  like 
wolves  in  winter  ever  since  we  left  Virginia.  The  sight 
of  those  white  sails,  swaying  and  flashing  there,  run- 
ning down  to  cross  our  path,  was  like  the  sight  of  food 
and  shelter  after  long  starving  in  the  snow.  There 
was  a  look  of  the  wolf  in  all  those  men's  faces.  Until 
you  see  him  looking  out  of  a  man's  face  you  do  not 
guess  how  vile  a  thing  the  beast  of  prey  is,  nor  how 
cruel  his  spirit  is.  I  assure  you  that  it  awed  me  to  see 
the  hungry  savagery  in  those  men.  They  were  pumping, 
and  passing  buckets  along,  and  every  now  and  then 
they  would  pause  and  mutter,  looking  out  upon  the 
prize. 

"  Yes,  you  beauty,"  they  said,  "  come  on.  Come  on 
a  little  nearer.  You  come  a  bit  nearer  and  we  will 
change  ships  with  you.  You  Cuban  dons  shall  have  a 
ship  to  go  home  in." 

No  one  had  said  that  we  should  attack  the  brig.  No 
order  had  been  given;  but  we  were  not  like  men  any 
longer ;  we  were  like  wolves,  an  instinct  to  kill  had  run 
through  the  pack.  I  felt  it  too;  why  should  I  pretend 
that  I  did  not?  We  were  half-starved  and  half -dead. 
We  had  not  been  living  like  men.  We  had  been  eating 
rats  and  drinking  the  drainings  from  the  sails,  glad  of 
what  we  could  get  of  them,  and  undergoing  this  —  not 
for  any  noble  end,  as  a  scholar  enduring  hardship  so 
that  he  may  bring  intellectual  beauty  to  the  world,  or 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         269 

a  soldier  suffering  wounds  to  bring  peace,  but  so  that 
we  might  have  strength  to  pump,  and  to  keep  on  pump- 
ing, lest  we  should  drowoi,  like  the  rats  we  ate,  before 
another  robbery  could  give  us  ease.  And  as  we  were 
not  like  living  men,  so  the  Marie  Galante  was  no  longer 
like  a  ship  to  us.  She  was  the  most  bitter  form  of 
prison,  in  which  we  moaned  and  toiled,  always  under 
sentence  of  death.  And  there,  coming  over  the  sea,  was 
deliverance.  It  seemed  a  natural  thing  that  we  should 
look  upon  the  brig  there  as  our  prey,  and  that  we  should 
set  ourselves  instinctively  to  prepare  to  seize  her.  I 
know. that  every  man  there  hungered  like  a  wild  beast 
for  the  rush  that  would  take  possession  of  her.  They 
would  have  boarded  a  frigate  rather  than  stay  longer 
in  that  death  cell. 

"  Knock  off  pumping,  boys,"  one  of  the  men  cried. 
"  We've  pumped  this  hooker  enough.  Let  her  sink. 
I'd  rather  sink  than  rot  at  these  brakes  any  more." 

"  Yes,"  said  others,  "  if  we  don't  take  her  we'll 
run  her  ashore  on  the  cape  there.     We've  had  enough." 

One  man  cried  to  heave  the  brakes  overboard  and 
wreck  the  pumps  with  an  axe;  but  the  others  over- 
ruled this.  The  brig  had  the  legs  of  us.  There  was 
some  doubt  whether  we  should  get  alongside  of  her ;  and 
leaking  as  we  were,  we  might  never  reach  "  the  cape 
there,"  without  pumping.  Still,  the  dreary  up  and 
down  straining  of  the  brakes  ceased.  It  was  strange 
to  notice  the  quiet  after  the  long  hours  of  that  monot- 
onous noise.  Very  soon  the  decks,  which  had  so  long 
run  brine,  dried  at  last ;  and  gleamed  dry,  covered  with 


270  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

little  white  salt  crystals.  So  we  drove  on  to  action 
quietly,  rolling  a  little,  while  below,  with  faint  irregular 
gurglings,  the  sea  dribbled  into  our  hold  and  washed 
and  lipped  there,  splashing  up  as  we  pitched. 

That  was  almost  the  last  thing  noticed  by  me  before 
the  actual  encounter,  for  the  men  wanted  me  in  the 
forecastle  to  turn  the  grindstone  for  them  while  they 
sharpened  their  hangers.  I  had  no  glimpse  of  the  brig 
from  where  I  worked ;  but  each  man,  coming  in  in  turn, 
told  me  something  of  her,  if  his  nerves  were  not  too 
tense  for  speech.  One  said  that  she  showed  Spanish 
colours,  and  that  we  had  lowered  our  topsail  to  her  by 
way  of  salute.  Another  said  that  she  was  one  of  the 
Havana  despatch-boats  going  to  Puerto-Rico.  The  last 
to  come  in  said  that  she  would  cross  our  bows  in  another 
five  minutes,  at  a  distance  of  about  half  a  cable  (a 
hundred  yards).  He  said  that  both  ships  were  keeping 
their  courses,  as  though  unsuspicious  of  each  other ;  that 
there  seemed  to  be  few  men  in  the  brig,  and  that  our 
men  were  all  lying  down  under  cover,  with  loaded  pistols 
in  their  hands,  ready  to  rush  up  as  we  ran  alongside  of 
them.  After  this  last  man  had  gone,  Dick  looked  in, 
and  told  me  to  go  below  into  the  fore-peak  to  see  if  the 
water  were  coming  in.  He  said  that  I  was  to  lie  low 
there  till  I  heard  from  him  again. 


XIII 

You  will  want  to  know  how  the  battle  went ;  and  how, 
as  we  ran  alongside,  our  gang  boarded.     You  will  want 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         271 

to  hear  about  the  decks,  the  men  with  the  handkerchiefs 
tied  about  their  heads,  the  sudden  falling  of  the  killed, 
and  all  the  violent  hurry  with  which  life  and  death 
mingle  in  a  fight  at  sea.  I  cannot  tell  you  anything  of 
all  that.  I  was  down  in  the  night  of  the  fore-peak, 
hearing  very  little,  except  the  wash  and  suck  of  the 
water  parted  by  the  bows,  and  the  crying  out  of  the  rats. 
I  heard  a  voice  call,  from  somewhere  outside  the  ship, 
and  an  answer  from  the  deck  in  Spanish.  Then  an- 
other hail,  startlingly  loud  and  near,  followed  by  a 
bumping  crash  which  flung  me  over.  As  I  fell  we 
bumped  again,  grindingly,  as  though  the  side  of  the 
ship  were  being  crushed  on  a  millstone.  Then  I  heard 
cries  and  a  shot  or  two,  a  stillness,  then  another  mighty 
bump,  with  heavy  falling  on  the  deck  above,  as  blocks 
and  gear  were  shaken  down  from  aloft  by  the  collision. 
Shots  and  cries,  both  strangely  unmeaning  to  me,  fol- 
lowed on  the  last  collision ;  then  they  too  at  last  ceased, 
and  it  was  all  pretty  quiet  except  for  the  grinding  of 
the  two  ships  together,  and  the  sudden  shouting  out  of 
Silvestre's  voice,  asking  somebody  a  question.  The 
water  choked  up  between  the  two  vessels.  People  were 
talking.  Some  one  cried  out  "  Yes,"  at  a  random, 
in  answer  to  Silvestre.  A  voice  called  out  excitingly 
to  swing  the  fore-yards  before  they  got  themselves  tan- 
gled into  kinks.  The  brace  rattled  out,  and  I  heard 
men  calling  out  as  they  hauled.  Presently  some  one 
just  above  me  shouted  aft. 

"  Yes.     Down  in  the  fore-peak  " ;  and  then  another 
Englishman   called   to   otherg    to    "get    along   there; 


272  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

march."  I  swung  tip  out  of  the  fore-peak  at  that,  and 
into  the  'tween-decks,  just  as  our  prisoners  were  being 
driven  down  to  prison.  One  of  the  prisoners,  a  sad- 
looking  Spaniard,  with  long  black  moustachios,  stopped 
to  stare  at  me  at  the  foot  of  the  upper-deck  ladder.  I 
think  now  that  I  must  have  resembled  some  one  known 
to  him.  At  the  time  I  felt  that  he  was  wondering  what 
a  boy  was  doing  in  such  company,  and  I  turned  away 
my  face  ashamed.  His  look  reproached  me  for  a  great 
while  after. 

There  were  seven  of  these  prisoners  altogether.  Two 
of  their  crew,  as  I  found  afterwards,  had  been  killed 
in  the  scuffle,  and  three  more  had  been  put  in  irons 
aboard  the  brig  in  order  to  be  held  to  ransom. 

"  Don't  you  stand  staring  there,"  said  one  of  our 
seamen  to  me.  "  Your  eyes'll  fall  out.  On  deck  with 
you,  and  help  shift  the  gear  into  the  brig."  He  kicked 
me  savagely,  swearing  that  he  would  like  to  knock  my 
brains  out. 

On  deck  I  found  the  seamen  rapidly  passing  the 
few  things  left  to  us  into  the  brig,  which  lay  grinding 
alongside.  Little  Theo  was  sunning  on  a  hatchway, 
giving  words  of  encouragement.  Dick  was  up  aloft, 
on  the  main  topsail-yard,  sending  the  sail  down  by  the 
halliards.  Knowing  that  I  should  be  beaten  if  I  held 
back,  I  ran  to  the  work  in  hand,  and  lent  my  pound  to 
the  rope.  As  I  worked  I  asked  French  Jean,  a  seaman 
who  had  always  been  kind  to  me,  whether  we  were 
going  to  take  all  the  sails  away. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  asked. 


r^ 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         273 

"  Why,"  said  I.  "  Because  if  we  do,  the  poor  Span- 
iards will  drown  before  they  can  reach  the  land.  The 
ship  will  sink  with  them." 

"  We  shall  leave  them  a  foresail,"  growled  one  of  the 
Englishmen.  "  You  keep  your  tongue  in  your  head. 
Who  cares  whether  they  do  drown  ?  " 

Somebody  else  said  that  I  was  getting  to  be  a  regular 
young  sea-lawyer  and  wanted  a  good  clumping.  Sil- 
vestre  bade  them  all  keep  quiet,  and  get  along  ahead 
with  the  work ;  there  would  be  "  time  enough  for  clump- 
ing later  on,"  he  added. 


XIV 

In  about  half  an  hour  we  went  aboard  the  brig  and 
sheered  off  from  the  old  Marie  Galante.  I  had  hated 
my  life  aboard  her,  as  you  can  well  imagine,  and  yet 
when  I  looked  at  the  outside  of  her  again,  after  all  those 
weeks,  I  felt  a  sort  of  home-sickness,  sharp  and  sudden. 
I  knew  the  life  to  be  had  in  her.  The  life  before  me 
in  the  brig  was  unknown  to  me,  and  therefore  to  be 
feared.  Something  in  the  way  the  old  battered  ship 
lifted  touched  me.  And  then  the  sight  of  the  Spaniards 
coming  up  on  deck  from  their  pen  below,  and  shaping 
a  course  for  the  nearest  land,  with  such  heavy  hearts  as 
you  may  guess,  was  pathetic,  too ;  and  then  their  sud- 
den manning  of  the  pump,  scared  perhaps  by  the  dis- 
covery of  the  leak,  not  till  then  suspected,  was  painful. 
The  last  that  I  saw  of  her  was  an  hour  later,  when 


274  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

we  were  five  miles  from  her.  She  was  then  bright  and 
shining  like  a  nautilus,  ploughing  slowly  towards  Cape 
Majsi. 

As  for  us,  we  had  a  fine  brave  wind  to  bustle  us.  Lit- 
tle Theo  cracked  on  more  sail,  and  drove  the  brig;  so 
that  in  a  couple  of  hours  the  Marie  Galante  was  hull 
down  on  the  horizon. 

"  Yes,"  he  cried,  "  you  shall  travel.  You  shall  race. 
We  shall  beat  them  yet.  We  shall  be  at  the  island  be- 
fore them  if  the  wind  hold.  Then  we  will  reckon  with 
them."  He  was  in  better  sprits  than  he  had  enjoyed 
since  that  long-ago  day  in  Virginia.  He  walked  the 
deck  excitedly,  looking  up  at  the  sails  and  then  away  to 
starboard,  on  which  side,  distant  some  seventeen  hun- 
dred miles  from  us,  was  his  island  of  wonders.  He 
seemed  possessed  of  a  spirit,  walking  the  deck  there. 
The  sight  of  him  set  me  wondering  again  whether  that 
story  of  his  could  be  true,  in  any  part  of  it.  It  was  a 
wild,  improbable  story,  the  story  of  a  madman ;  and  yet 
I  heard  the  sailors  talking  of  very  strange  secrets  pos- 
sessed by  the  Indians,  and  of  the  magic  practised  by 
them,  so  that  at  last  I  think  that  something  of  the 
man's  enthusiasm  took  hold  of  me.  I  remembered  how 
Dr.  Carter,  a  great  scholar,  had  told  me  years  before 
that  undoubtedly,  beyond  life,  were  many  good  and  evil 
spirits,  which  could  be  controlled  and  coaxed  by  any 
earnest  human  soul,  as  might  indeed  be  seen  from  the 
lives  of  saints  and  magicians.  I  began  to  think  that 
perhaps  this  man  had  rediscovered  some  secret,  long- 
forgotten  by  the  white  races,  but  still  potent  to  bring 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         275 

the  human  soul  into  easier  communion  with  the  powers, 
whatever  they  might  be.  And  though  this  belief 
wavered  in  me,  like  a  sea  at  slack  water,  it  kept  crop- 
ping up.  Perhaps  he  was  mad,  perhaps  he  was  wise. 
And  why,  in  that  great  strange  land,  overgrown  with 
forests,  in  which  mysterious  peoples  had  built  and  van- 
ished, should  there  not  be  a  record  of  wisdom,  wilder 
and  stranger  than  any  wisdom  preserved  by  us  ?  What 
was  it  ?  What  was  in  that  temple  on  the  hill  ?  Could 
it  all  be  an  invention,  or  the  result  of  sunstroke,  or 
something  hideously  remembered  from  one  of  the 
dreams  that  come  in  fever  ? 

We  were  in  the  windward  passage  that  evening.  The 
sunset  was  dying  out  of  the  west,  the  stars  were  show- 
ing. Dick  and  I  sat  aft  on  the  deck,  lazily  making 
chafing-gear  together  in  the  failing  light.  Little  Theo 
stood  near  to  us,  looking  out  as  before,  to  starboard, 
towards  his  island.  Abaft  us  was  the  helmsman.  The 
rest  of  the  crew  were  scattered  about  the  deck,  getting 
ready,  as  I  thought,  to  hold  one  of  their  sing-songs,  or 
sea-concerts,  to  the  music  of  Leon's  bugle.  A  few  of 
them  strolled  aft  casually,  and  got  into  talk  with  Dick, 
asking  what  the  chafing-gear  was  for,  and  yarning  about 
old  times  at  sea.  One  of  them,  as  I  remember,  had 
been  a  peon  on  the  plantation  in  which  Sir  Henry  Mor- 
gan had  died.  He  told  of  that  soldier's  death.  Two  or 
three  others  fetched  up  alongside  Theo,  and  I,  finding 
it  too  dusky  now  for  my  work,  listened  idly  to  what  they 
said,  but  paid  little  enough  heed  to  it  till  afterwards. 
The  talk  was  partly  in  Spanish,  of  which  I  had  already 


276  LOST  ENDEAVOUK 

picked  up  a  good  deal,  and  partly  in  seamen's  English. 
It  ran  something  like  this :  — 

A  man.     She  is  a  good  brig  to  go,  Cap. 

Theo.     Yes.     She  is  fast.     She  is  a  good  brig. 

The  man.  A  pleasant  change  after  the  Marie  Gal- 
ante.     She  was  a  useless  article. 

Theo.     Yes. 

The  man.  We  had  enough  of  pumping  in  the  Marie 
Galante.  A  hungry,  hard-working,  skinflint  life  aboard 
that  hooker. 

Theo.     Yes. 

The  man.     Time  we  had  a  change,  I  guess. 

Theo.     We  shall  do  it  now. 

The  man.  What  are  your  plans.  Cap  ?  Back  to  the 
island  to  head  them  off  ? 

Theo.  Yes.  Back  to  the  island.  Back  to  my  se- 
cret.    Back  to  my  task. 

The  man.  Don't  you  think  that  we  could  do  with 
a  little  jaunt.  Cap,  after  all  this  hazing? 

Theo.     What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? 

The  man.  There's  Tortuga  over  yonder,  Cap.  It's 
pleasant  in  Tortuga. 

Theo.     Well? 

The  man.  Wliat  would  be  the  harm  in  just  going 
into  Tortuga  for  a  couple  of  days  ?  It  would  set  us  all 
up  after  what  we've  been  through. 

Another  man.  Sure,  Cap.  Let's  let  her  go  off  for 
Tortuga.     The  island's  almost  in  sight. 

Another  man  {sitting  by  me.)     Tortuga.     It's  a  fine 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         277 

place,  Tortuga.  I'd  rather  have  a  day  in  Tortuga  than 
spend  a  week  in  any  island  you  care  to  give  a  name  to. 

Another  man.  That's  what  I  say.  I've  had  enough 
for  one  trip.  I  want  a  rest.  (Here  he  rose  and  came 
close  up  to  Theo.)  And  what  I  say  is,  I'm  going  to 
have  it. 

Dich.  That's  enough  of  that.  Put  a  stopper  over 
all,  there. 

Theo.     So  you  want  to  put  into  Tortuga  ? 

All.     Yes. 

Theo.     And  go  ashore  to  get  drunk? 

All.     Yes. 

Theo.  Then  I  tell  you  that  you'll  do  nothing  of  the 
kind.  You'll  back  off  from  here,  and  work  this  brig 
to  Boca  Drago.     Get  forward  with  you  to  your  work. 

Dich.     You  hear,  there.     Clear  out  of  this. 

All.  Don't  you  mix  up  with  this,  Dick.  It's  noth- 
ing to  do  with  you.  Now,  Theo,  are  you  going  to  put 
into  Tortuga  ? 

Theo.  Stand  back.  Get  forward.  You've  had 
your  answer. 

Dich.  Look  out.  Cap.  Draw  your  gun  or  he'll  rope 
you. 

In  another  instant  Dick  was  slung  backwards  on  to 
the  deck,  and  as  he  lay  there  a  couple  of  seamen  sat  upon 
him.  Little  Theo,  clove-hitched  round  his  elbows,  was 
knocked  over  on  his  face.  Both  were  bound  up  as 
tightly  as  a  man-of-warsman's  hammock. 

"  Now  then,"  said  Silvestre,  "  you  see  ?     You  for- 


278  LOST  ENDEAVOTJE 

bade  us  to  go  ashore.  Muj  bien.  Now  I  am  captain, 
not  you.  And  now  that  I  am  captain,  I  tell  you  that 
your  story  of  going  to  the  island  is  a  story  of  a  cow 
and  a  hen,  and  yourself  are  no  more  good  than  a  twice- 
laid  rope.  So.  Muy  bien.  You  shall  cease  to  be  cap- 
tain. You  shall  go  ashore  and  tell  your  tales  to  the 
French  at  Petit  Guaves." 

"  What  about  the  boy  ? "  said  one  of  the  seamen,  in- 
dicating me.  "  He's  a  regular  hanger-on  of  the  cabin 
lot.     I  vote  that  he  goes  with  them." 

"  Yes,"  said  another  man.  "  He's  no  good.  Dirty, 
idle  skrimshanker.  He's  an  unlucky  youngster  any- 
way.    Let  him  go  with  them." 

"  Yes,"  said  another.  "  And  now  that  that  is  set- 
tled, we'll  put  these  charming  birds  down  below  till  we 
make  port.  Let  them  sing  and  hang  together."  With 
this,  they  bundled  us  down  into  the  cabin.  It  was 
dark  in  the  cabin.  Those  on  deck  flung  a  tarpaulin 
over  the  skylight,  so  that  we  could  not  see  the  stars. 
We  lay  bound,  flat  on  our  backs,  staring  up  at  darkness. 
Sometimes,  by  moving  our  heads  a  little,  we  could  see  a 
gleam  on  the  water  through  the  cabin  windows.  Some- 
times a  man  came  groping  in  to  get  something,  letting 
in  a  little  light  from  without.  Otherwise  we  felt,  as  I 
have  sometimes  fancied  that  the  statues  in  a  church  must 
feel,  not  quite  alive.  Little  Theo  was  silent.  The  sud- 
den dashing  of  his  hope  just  when  all  had  seemed  pos- 
sible to  him,  had  made  him  as  mute  as  a  fish.  Dick  at 
first  was  silent  too.  He  showed  then,  I  think,  that  his 
was  not  (as  I  had  thought)  a  master's  mind.     He  was 


ii 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         279 

looking  to  Theo  to  direct  him.  He  was  good  enough 
at  some  common  emergency  of  the  sea,  such  as  the  mend- 
ing of  a  pump,  or  the  stealing  of  the  frigate's  topsails ; 
but  now  he  was  dashed  and  crestfallen,  waiting  for  his 
captain  to  save  him.  He  had  tried  to  reason  with  the 
hands,  in  his  good-tempered  way ;  but  he  did  not  under- 
stand these  Spanish  people,  and  his  words,  which  might 
have  moved  an  English  crew,  only  irritated  them.  He 
saw  this,  and  had  the  good  sense  to  be  quiet.  So  we 
lay  there  in  the  cabin;  and  for  my  part  I  could  not 
help  thinking  of  that  verse  in  the  Psalms  which  tells 
us  that  "  blood-thirsty  and  deceitful  men  shall  not  live 
out  half  their  days." 

"  Dick,"  I  said,  "  what  are  they  going  to  do  to  us  ?  " 

"  It'll  be  all  right,"  he  said.  "  Don't  worry,  boy. 
We'll  build  our  bridges  when  we  come  to  the  river. 
It'll  be  all  right." 

"  Are  they  going  to  sell  us,  Dick  ?  " 

"  I  dunno,"  he  answered.  "  Maybe  that's  what 
they'll  try  to  do.  But  don't  you  worry;  I'll  pull  you 
through."  After  that  we  were  silent  together  for  about 
half  an  hour.     Then  Dick  spoke  again. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  you,  Cap.  But  maybe  it  will  pan  out 
not  so  bad." 

"  I  am  hoping  so,"  said  Theo  coldly. 

"I  didn't  think  it  of  Silvestre,"  said  Dick.  "I 
wasn't  quick  enough.  That  was  where  I  let  you  in.  I 
ought  to  have  seen  their  game  at  once." 

"  It  may  be  a  good  thing,"  said  Theo.  I  imagine 
from  what  happened  afterwards  that  something  had 


280  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

come  into  his  mind.  "  Have  you  ever  been  in  Tor- 
tuga  ?     I  mean,  to  live  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick,  "  I've  been  there." 

"  What  sort  of  a  harbour  is  it  there  ?  " 

"  ^o  harbour,"  said  Dick  dully ;  "  only  a  road,  where 
I  was  —  a  road  full  of  cat-boats  and  sloops.  All  the 
scum  of  the  Caribbean  go  there  to  buy  letters  of  marque 
from  the  French.  Cat-boats  and  sloops,  and  then  an 
uphill  sort  of  a  shanty-town  with  a  lot  of  seamen  drink- 
ing cana." 

''  The  Spaniards  burnt  it  once,"  said  Theo.  "  Spain 
was  too  merciful ;  she  ought  to  have  settled  it  with 
people." 

"  Well,  don't  let's  worry,"  said  Dick ;  "  let's  sleep." 


XV 

He  was  a  tough  sailor,  able  to  sleep  pretty  much 
wherever  he  pleased.  He  edged  himself  into  a  com- 
fortable position,  and  fell  asleep  in  a  moment.  Theo 
said  that  he  too  would  sleep ;  but  I,  who  was  awake  for 
a  long  while  after  that,  wondering  what  would  happen 
to  me,  and  whether  I  would  ever  see  my  father  again, 
could  tell  that  he  did  not  sleep.  He  said  "  Ah  "  ex- 
citedly once  or  twice,  as  though  something  good  had 
occurred  to  him ;  and  when  I  woke,  just  before  the  dawn, 
he  was  still  awake,  muttering  to  himself.  He  said  that 
he  had  not  yet  been  to  sleep;  but  that  it  was  all  right, 
he  could  do  without. 


CHAELES  HAKDING'S  STOKY         281 

We  made  the  western  end  of  Tortuga  the  next  morn- 
ing. By  noon  we  were  up  with  it,  sailing  about  a  mile 
from  the  shore,  with  the  shipping  in  the  roadstead 
plainly  visible,  though  still  pretty  far  away  ahead  of 
us.  They  lowered  a  boat  olf  the  western  end  of  the 
island.  Silvestre  and  three  others  got  into  it.  They 
were  there,  with  their  oars  out,  dragging  alongside,  as 
the  brig  slowly  forged  ahead,  when  (our  ankle-bonds 
being  cut)  we  were  marched  up  on  deck  into  the  light. 

"  Well,  boys,"  said  Dick  easily,  "  what  is  it  going  to 
be?" 

"Get  down  into  the  boat  here,"  said  Silvestre; 
"  you're  going  ashore." 

Dick  scowled  at  me  as  though  to  say  "  You  be  quiet," 
and  led  the  way  down.  When  we  were  settled  in  the 
stern-sheets  the  boat  was  cast  off.  Silvestre,  who  pulled 
the  stroke-oar,  sneered  at  us,  asking  if  we  should  like 
being  sold.  Dick  nudged  me  hard  to  keep  quiet.  No- 
body answered  Silvestre.  We  sat  with  bound  hands  in 
the  stern-sheets,  staring  into  his  face.  He  had  a  yel- 
lowish face,  with  broken  teeth  which  showed  when  he 
grinned.  He  wore  ear-rings,  and  a  whitish  kind  of  a 
hat.  The  bulwarks  of  the  brig  were  lined  with  similar 
faces,  staring  down  at  us.  The  brig  seemed  to  roll  a 
good  deal ;  for  there  was  a  swell,  and  hardly  any  wind. 
As  she  drew  away  from  us  I  read  the  name  on  her 
transom,  Nuestra  Sefiora  la  Virgen  Santisima,  and  the 
port  name,  Havana,  in  gold  underneath.  Some  one, 
anxious  to  show  his  contempt  for  us,  fired  two  pistols 
at  us  from  over  the  taffrail  while  we  were  within  easy 


282  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

range.  The  shot  splashed  the  water  on  to  Theo's  hands, 
and  lay  there  in  little  bright  drops.  He  did  not  trouble 
even  to  shake  them  away ;  but  sat  still  as  before,  staring 
into  Silvestre's  face.  There  was  something  in  his  look 
which  frightened  me.  The  water-drops  made  his  skin 
look  like  canvas.  I  kept  thinking  of  the  similarity. 
Silvestre  rowed  slowly,  pausing  after  each  stroke  to 
stare  back  at  Theo.  Sometimes  he  paused  in  his  row- 
ing altogether,  letting  the  boat  drift,  while  he  stared 
into  his  prisoner's  eyes.  I  had  the  horrible  fancy  that 
he  was  debating  whether  to  cut  his  throat  or  not.  When 
he  stopped  rowing  I  looked  at  the  hilt  of  his  knife, 
which  peeped  out  of  its  sheath  in  the  belt  lying  on  the 
thwart  beside  him,  where  he  had  flung  it  so  that  he 
might  row  more  easily.  It  was  an  ordinary  Spanish 
sheath  knife,  with  a  sort  of  brass  bird  on  the  top  of 
the  handle.  It  looked  like  a  duck,  but  it  was  meant  for 
a  phoenix.  I  wondered  what  we  could  do  if  he  laid 
aside  his  oar  and  reached  for  that  knife.  We  could 
upset  the  boat,  I  thought,  and  all  drown  together,  pris- 
oners and  masters,  or  be  torn  by  the  sharks.  There 
were  sharks  there.  One  came  nuzzling  past,  with  a 
great  rippling  heave,  showing  the  white  of  his  belly 
as  he  shouldered  down. 

The  boat  gently  grated  past  a  submerged  rock.  Sil- 
vestre stood  up,  and  turned  round.  To  me,  in  my  dis- 
ordered state,  it  seemed  that  he  was  going  to  kill  us, 
and  that  he  was  looking  round  for  support  among  his 
crew.  One  of  the  men  caught  his  eye,  and  guessed  his 
intention  (if  indeed  it  had  been  what  I  thought).     Per- 


2i 

i 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         283 

haps  there  was  some  exchange  of  looks  between  them. 

"  We'll  land  them  on  the  rocks,  boss,"  he  said.  ^'  It's 
sheltered  to  leeward  of  the  spit.     Pull  in." 

After  that  Silvestre's  intention  cooled  off.  He  sat 
down,  fingering  his  knife,  and  then  went  on  with  his 
rowing.  He  kept  looking  at  us  in  an  ugly  way ;  but  he 
made  no  attempt  upon  us.  We  were  safe  for  that  time. 
We  drove  in  on  a  hissing  roller,  to  a  sheltered  place 
among  the  rocks. 

"  Jump  out,"  said  one  of  the  men. 

"  Pull  in,  and  let  us  jump  ashore,"  said  Dick. 
"  What  sort  of  a  place  is  this  to  land  us  ?  " 

"  Good  enough  for  you.  Jump  out,"  said  Silvestre ; 
"  if  not,  we  will  throw  you." 

Theo  jumped  at  once  on  to  the  rock ;  I  followed  him ; 
Dick  lingered  to  speak  his  mind  to  Silvestre. 

"  Come  along,  Dick,"  I  cried.  I  was  afraid  that  he 
would  taunt  them  into  some  desperate  cruelty. 

"  Get  out,"  said  Silvestre,  raising  his  oar. 

Dick  jumped  on  to  the  rock  beside  me,  to  finish  what 
he  had  to  say  in  safety. 

"  Otra  vez,  Silvestre,"  he  said.  "  Otra  vez.  Hasta 
luego,  you  amarillo  perro.  A  Portuguese  drummer's 
cabron  was  your  abbeyalo.     Sabe?     Mauana,  mozos." 

The  men  laughed  at  Silvestre's  ugly  face.  They 
looked  at  him  and  from  one  to  another,  expecting  him 
to  avenge  the  insult.  Dick  waited  for  a  few  seconds 
to  see  whether  he  would,  but  he  did  not ;  I  don't  know 
why.     Perhaps  he  felt  that  even  the  pirates  would  have 


284  LOST  E:N"DEAV0UR 

despised  him  for  hurting  men  whose  hands  were  tied. 
He  scowled  at  us,  and  grinned  to  see  us  pitching  on  our 
faces  (as  of  course  we  did,  owing  to  our  hands  being 
bound)  when  we  jumped  from  rock  to  rock.  He  was  a 
bad  man,  Silvestre. 

XVI 

After  going  about  fifteen  yards  we  came  to  a  narrow 
gut  of  sea,  where  we  saw  that  we  should  have  to  wade. 
Beyond  it  there  was  a  steep  bit  of  rock,  difficult  enough 
to  climb  even  with  free  hands. 

"  Kneel  down,  boy,"  said  Dick,  "  and  see  if  you  can 
bite  my  hand-lashings  in  two." 

I  knelt  on  the  sharp  rocks,  and  gnawed  at  the  spun- 
yarn  till  I  got  a  bit  of  it  gnawed  in  two.  After  that 
Dick  soon  freed  himself,  and  set  us  free.  We  stood 
together,  chafing  our  numbed  hands,  watching  the  boat, 
which  was  now  fifty  yards  from  us,  near  the  ground. 
The  brig  had  backed  her  topsail  for  them.  She  lay 
gracefully  heaving,  "  seething  in  her  own  milk,"  as 
Dick  said.  Something  flashed  from  the  boat  and  went 
in  a  gleam  ashore.  The  boatman  cried  to  us,  pointing 
to  where  the  bright  thing  lay  on  the  sand. 

"  They've  thrown  us  a  machete,"  said  Dick.  "  I'm 
going  to  throw  them  something."  His  knife  had  been 
taken  from  him.  In  his  pockets  he  had  a  case  of  wick- 
trimming  scissors,  such  as  are  used  at  sea  for  the  bin- 
nacle lamps  half  a  dozen  times  in  a  night.  With  these 
he  snipped  off  a  bit  of  leather  from  his  belt,  and  trimmed 


CHAELES  HARDING'S  STORY         285 

it  to  shape.  "  I'm  going  to  make  a  sling,"  he  cried ; 
bring  those  bits  of  spunyarn  and  come  along." 

We  plunged  into  the  gut  of  sea  together,  and  struck 
out  for  the  shore.  We  got  to  the  beach  safely,  but 
shaking  with  the  cold  of  the  water.  We  had  had  no 
food ;  we  could  not  stand  cold  water.  We  had  to  stand 
and  stamp  to  get  our  warmth  again. 

Before  the  sling  was  ready  the  boat  was  alongside 
the  brig,  out  of  sling  shot,  and  the  main-yards  were 
filling  to  the  breeze.  The  beautiful  little  brig  was 
heaving  away  out  of  our  lives  towards  that  Port  of 
Peace,  the  "  shanty  town  "  of  Dick's  account,  where  the 
seamen  sit  drinking  caiia  year  in,  year  out,  while  the 
money  lasts. 

XVII 

Theo  picked  up  the  machete  and  felt  it.  It  was  a 
sorry  old  "  trade  knife,"  blunt  and  dull,  with  a  bright 
tin  basket-guard  to  please  the  Indians.  We  took  off 
our  clothes,  wrung  them  out  and  laid  them  to  dry  in  the 
sun.  while  we  heaped  hot  sand  upon  our  bodies,  and 
waited  till  we  could  wear  them. 

"  Wliat  is  the  next  move.  Cap  ?  "  said  Dick. 

"  Food,"  I  answered.  "  There  must  be  plantains 
in  the  woods  here." 

"Yes.  Food  first,"  said  Theo,  "but  afterwards  I 
have  a  plan.  We  are  going  to  the  island,  you  and  I. 
We  have  a  chance  yet.     Who  knows  ?  " 

"  Nobody  knows,"  said  Dick ;  "  but  I  don't  see  what 
chance  there  is." 


286  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

"  Yes,"  said  Theo ;  "  to-night  there  will  be  a  chance. 
We  shall  get  aboard  one  of  the  sloops  in  the  Road,  and 
put  to  sea  in  her.  In  two  weeks  we  shall  be  at  the 
island.  I  tell  you  that  the  spirit  tells  me.  The  road  is 
made  plain  to  me.  In  two  weeks  we  shall  be  in  the 
lagoon  there,  the  northern  lagoon,  in  time.  I  am  quite 
sure  that  we  shall  be  in  time." 

"  It  is  a  crazy  plan,"  I  said.  I  had  grown  very  old 
for  my  years,  with  all  these  excitements  and  miseries. 
!N'ow  I  felt  myself  the  equal  of  these  two  grown  men. 
I  spoke  up  boldly  to  them.  Why  should  they  settle  my 
destiny  for  me  ? 

"  Not  so  crazy,"  said  Dick.  "  But  first  we  have  to 
cross  this  island.  And  there's  not  much  chance  of 
doing  that,  by  all  accounts.  There's  the  Tortuga 
copper-head." 

"What  is  that?"  I  asked. 

"  A  snake,"  he  said.  "  Not  a  very  big  one.  He  lies 
in  the  canebrakes  for  mice,  and  strikes  you  before  you 
see  him.  He  is  a  surly  snake.  He  doesn't  move  out 
of  your  way  like  other  snakes.  But,  if  we  get  across 
the  island,  we  must  get  out  of  it  at  once,  be  sure  of  that. 
This  is  pirates'  island,  where  we  three  will  be  outlaws; 
any  man  strong  enough  to  take  us  can  enslave  us. 
That's  the  French  law  about  foreigners.  Neither  you 
nor  I  intend  to  go  into  slavery  again.  The  only  other 
chance  for  us  is  to  ship  in  privateers  and  go  out  a- 
cruising  with  the  gang  again;  rum  and  dough-boys. 
The  brig  there  has  given  me  enough  of  privateers. 
There's  no  life  for  a  man  in  a  privateer." 


CHAELES  HARDING'S  STORY         287 

"  Yes,"  said  Tlieo,  "  we  must  go  to  the  island.  I  told 
you  so." 

"  It's  fifteen  hundred  miles,  Cap,"  said  Dick. 

"  The  road  will  be  cleared  for  us,"  said  Theo.  "  Old 
Father  Coal- White,  the  negro,  came  to  live  in  Tortuga. 
He  would  help  us  if  we  could  find  him." 

"  The  brig  is  up  to  the  roads,"  said  Dick.  "  If  they 
tell  the  planters  about  us,  there'll  be  a  hue  and  cry. 
All  the  farmers  will  be  out  to  catch  us.  We  must 
start." 

We  set  out  on  our  long  march  through  the  scrub. 
We  cut  ourselves  sharp  stakes  as  weapons.  We  took  it 
in  turns  to  cut  a  way  with  the  machete.  Whenever  we 
came  to  a  fruit-tree  we  ate.  The  sun  rose  up  to  blister 
us  as  we  marched.  We  drank  at  every  puddle  and 
brook  to  which  we  came.  It  was  death  to  drink  such 
stuff,  we  told  each  other,  but  then  it  was  death  not  to 
drink.  We  did  not  think  much  about  the  snakes  when 
once  the  agony  of  thirst  had  begun.  At  about  five  in 
the  evening  we  were  attacked  by  that  pest,  "  the  bete 
rouge,"  a  little  stinging  beast  about  as  big  as  a  pin's 
head.  It  is  a  little  creature,  but  its  bite  sows  a  man's 
flesh  with  little  burning  fire  sparks,  which  rage  like 
vitriol.  After  some  time  we  found  an  oily  kind  of  leaf 
which  soothed  the  pain  of  these  bites ;  but  for  a  while 
they  took  all  heart  out  of  us.  When  a  man  is  in 
fierce  pain  he  is  apt  to  think  of  nothing  else.  The 
thirst,  pain,  and  weariness  destroyed  our  fear  of  snakes, 
and  made  us  go  incautiously,  forgetting  that  now  we 
were  outlaws  in  a  foreign  land,  prizes  for  whoever 


288  LOST  EITDEAVOUR 

would  take  us.  Going  on  thus  carelessly,  with  our 
heads  down,  we  came  suddenly  to  a  sugar-mill,  where 
a  few  slaves  were  piling  their  mattocks  at  the  end  of 
the  day's  work.  We  had  hoped  to  avoid  people  alto- 
gether, perhaps,  if  we  had  been  cautious,  we  might  have 
avoided  these ;  but  there  it  was.  We  came  plump  upon 
them,  with  no  lie  ready,  and  such  a  startled,  guilty  look 
as  made  them  suspicious,  as  we  could  see  by  the  way 
they  stared, 

Theo  spoke  to  them  at  once,  asking  if  this  were  the 
Soleil  d'Or  estancia.  They  replied  surlily  by  asking 
us  what  we  were. 

"  Good  Frenchmen,"  said  Theo,  without  thinking. 
"  Good  Frenchmen  in  the  tobacco  trade,  crossing  the 
island  for  stores." 

They  stared  at  us  suspiciously,  without  speaking,  for 
some  little  time.  JSTot  liking  their  silence,  Theo  asked 
them  if  Father  Coal-White,  the  negro  witch  doctor, 
still  lived  at  Port  of  Peace.  They  did  not  answer  him 
at  once.  They  all  stood  very  still,  staring  hard.  Then 
one  of  them,  moving  a  step  forward,  replied  that  nearly 
all  the  negroes  in  the  island  had  died  of  lung-sickness 
the  year  before  — "  As  surely  we  knew,"  he  added 
shrewdly,  "  if  we  were  islanders  as  we  maintained." 

"  Naturally,  I  know  all  that,"  said  Theo.  "  I  want 
to  know  whether  he  survived  the  lung-sickness." 

They  did  not  answer  him,  but  muttered  among  them- 
selves. Then  one  of  them,  smiling,  asked  us  whence 
we  came  and  whither  we  were  going.  Theo  said  that 
we  were  going  to  Port  of  Peace. 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         289 

"  And  the  boj,"  said  the  slave,  quickly  changing  into 
Spanish,  "  es  tambien  Frances  el  muchaco  ?  "  [Is  the 
boy  also  French  ?] 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  the  slaves  thought  us  liars. 
They  had  caught  some  Spanish  trick  of  accent  in  Theo's 
French,  and  now  tried  to  surprise  him  into  speaking 
Spanish.  Theo's  face  looked  very  blank,  as  though  he 
did  not  understand. 

"  Allons,"  he  said,  turning  to  us.  We  began  to  shog 
off  upon  our  road,  while  the  slaves,  still  staring  at  us, 
nodded  to  each  other  and  muttered  in  the  slaves'  patois, 
which  none  of  us  knew. 

"  They  take  us  for  runaway  slaves,"  said  Theo,  under 
his  breath  to  us.  "  They  get  a  reward  for  catching  run- 
aways.    We  must  get  rid  of  them." 

One  of  them,  the  smiler,  came  after  us,  offering  to 
guide  us  into  Port  of  Peace  by  a  short  cut.  Theo  told 
him  that  we  already  knew  the  short  cut,  and  that  we 
disliked  the  society  of  slaves,  who  were  reckoned  pretty 
low  in  the  scale  in  Tortuga  in  that  year  of  grace.  He 
thought  that  this  would  quiet  the  fellow ;  but  no,  he  be- 
came both  saucy  and  truculent.  He  must  have  been  a 
favourite  of  his  master,  or  nearly  out  of  his  time.  He 
followed  us  at  a  little  distance,  no  doubt  to  watch 
whether  we  took  the  short  cut.  Now  and  then  he  flung 
little  pebbles  at  us,  and  called  out  abusively. 

"  Never  mind  him,"  said  Dick  quietly.  "  If  we 
round  on  him  we'll  be  tackled  by  the  rest  of  the  slaves. 
Come  on,  and  pay  no  attention." 

"  Not  so,"  said  Theo.     "  That  would  prove  us  to  be 


290  LOST  EITDEAVOUK 

slaves  in  their  opinion.  ISTo  free  man  would  stand  sucli 
insolence  here.  We  will  treat  him  with  the  high  hand. 
Here  he  comes  again.     ISTow,  after  him." 

We  rogue-marched  the  fellow  with  us  for  some  little 
distance,  and  then  Dick  cobbed  him  with  a  cudgel. 
It  was  a  lucky  thing  as  it  proved  that  we  brought  him 
with  us  a  little  way  instead  of  cudgelling  him  on  the 
spot,  for  I  learned,  long  afterwards,  that  the  man,  when 
we  let  him  go,  ran  back  to  the  estancia  for  the  blood- 
hounds, vowing  that  we  were  escaped  slaves.  The 
hounds  (having  just  been  fed)  would  not  work  the 
scent;  whereas,  had  we  let  him  go  at  once,  he  would 
have  reached  the  estancia  before  the  feeding-time,  and 
we  should  have  been  run  down  and  taken. 


XVIII 

We  got  to  the  first  house  of  Port  of  Peace  at  about 
twelve  that  night.  A  dog  was  baying  the  moon  in  the 
street  before  us,  with  his  head  thrown  up,  and  his 
shadow  beside  him,  black  as  ink.  A  lamp  or  two  burned 
in  the  town,  which  sloped  to  the  sea  in  a  street  of  wooden 
huts,  some  of  them  tottery  and  quaint  in  the  moonlight. 
A  negro  was  beating  a  drum,  far  away  below  in  a  hut 
near  the  water.  Otherwise  the  town  seemed  deserted, 
the  town  of  a  dream,  the  town  of  the  sleeping  beauty. 
One  or  two  negroes  lay  asleep  in  the  street.  A  drunk- 
ard, talking  to  himself  in  the  dark,  was  the  only  voice 
heard  by  us  as  we  passed  through. 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         291 

There  was  a  plank  pier,  jutting  out  into  the  water 
between  handrails,  at  the  end  of  the  town.  At  the  end 
of  the  pier  stood  a  chister  of  poles  to  which  boats  were 
moored.  One  little  boat  had  oars  in  her.  We  got  into 
this  boat,  and  pulled  her  in  to  the  Road  among  the  ship- 
ping. The  Road  was  very  full  of  shipping.  A  pri- 
vateer was  fitting  a  fleet  there  (I  believe)  to  cut  log- 
wood. The  ships  lay  in  tiers  everywhere  at  double 
moorings.  A  light  mist  about  them  made  them  unreal 
and  very  beautiful.  It  was  all  like  a  dream,  that  night 
adventure. 

The  sloops  and  small  craft  lay  nearer  to  the  shore 
than  the  bigger  ships.  We  rowed  to  a  small  sloop  which 
looked  to  be  newly  in  from  the  sea,  since  she  was 
loaded  and  had  her  sails  bent.  We  were  not  careful 
any  longer.  Something  in  the  night  and  the  sea  gave 
us  confidence,  and  it  was  not  so  dangerous  as  it  sounds. 
I  think  that  we  could  have  gone  aboard  any  ship  there 
with  equal  certainty.  Every  man  in  all  that  shipping 
had  gone  ashore  to  sleep.  It  was  the  custom  in  Tor- 
tuga  among  the  privateers,  as  Dick  said.  There  was 
no  fever  in  Tortuga,  and  the  custom  suited  the  pub- 
lic-house keepers.  We  got  aboard  the  sloop  and  exam- 
ined her. 

She  was  padlocked  at  all  her  hatches;  no  one  was 
aboard  her.  She  smelt  very  strong  of  logwood.  There 
was  "no  need  to  ask  what  she  was,"  so  Dick  said. 
That  was  the  first  time  I  ever  smelt  the  log•^vood  smell. 
Afterwards,  as  you  might  say,  I  scented  my  life  with 
it.     We  broke  open  the  padlocks  with  a  spike  from  the 


292  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

boatswain's  locker.  We  threw  the  hatches  back  to  let 
the  air  into  the  cabins,  and  then  turned  to  together  to 
get  the  anchor  up. 

"  We  shall  get  to  the  island,"  said  Theo  quietly.  "  I 
told  you  that  the  road  would  be  cleared." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick ;  "  we  shall  make  the  island.  We 
can  begin  again  at  the  island." 

XIX 

It  comes  back  to  me  like  madness,  now;  yet  at  the 
time  it  seemed  to  be  the  only  thing  for  us  to  do.  So 
much  was  closed  to  us,  so  much  was  dangerous  to  us, 
so  much  was  uncertain.  Only  the  island  seemed  cer- 
tain and  safe  and  possible.  And  being  all  that,  it  be- 
came everything  to  us,  to  Dick  and  myself,  as  well  as 
to  the  lunatic  who  had  brought  us  there.  We  all  felt 
the  magic  of  the  island.  It  was  like  a  land  of  promise 
to  us.  The  distance  was  nothing,  the  danger  was  noth- 
ing. I  do  not  understand  the  danger,  and  the  others 
did  not  show  that  it  existed.  Whatever  might  happen 
at  the  island  was  dark  to  us,  and  in  the  future.  The 
going  to  the  island  was  another  matter;  it  was  some- 
thing certain,  a  plan,  a  plank  to  the  drowning.  Hope 
rose  up  in  me,  as  we  got  the  anchor,  that  after  all  we 
should  reach  the  island  before  the  mutineers.  I 
thought  of  nothing  else  as  I  hoisted  and  trimmed  the 
sails.  The  passion  of  Theo's  gambling  began  to  move 
me.  I  was  not  so  much  excited  for  myself  as  a  sharer 
of   Theo's   excitement.     His   excitement  coloured  our 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         293 

minds,  so  that  everything  was  in  a  wrong  proportion. 
Excitement  runs  easily  from  one  mind  to  another. 
Theo  infected  us  both.  It  seemed  nothing  to  me  that 
I  was  helping  to  steal  a  man's  sloop,  for  which  I  might 
be  hanged  as  a  pirate.  Playing  this  mad  game  had 
blinded  me. 

"We  shall  get  to  the  island,"  said  Theo,  as  we  be- 
gan to  draw  out  of  the  harbour.  "  If  it  were  not  meant 
that  we  should  reach  the  island,  would  all  things,  even 
all  disastrous  things,  have  helped  us  as  they  have?  I 
tell  you  that  we  shall  beat  the  mutineers.  I  shall  com- 
plete my  work.  Then  I  shall  know  the  words  of  power ; 
and  I  shall  speak  them  to  the  Indians,  and  they  will 
rise  up  and  drive  out  the  foreigners.  I  shall  be  Manco 
Capac  come  again.  Bow,  you  wind.  In  a  few  days 
I  may  be  learning  the  word  which  makes  the  wind 
blow.'"' 

By  dawn  we  were  off  Rabel,  a  weary  trio,  reckoning 
the  food  and  water  which  was  to  carry  us  so  far. 


XX 

We  made  the  island.  We  rose  Sombrero  Peak  at 
dawn  one  morning  three  weeks  later.  He  glowed  at 
us  out  of  the  mist,  catching  the  sun  high  up,  before  the 
dawn  had  broken.  The  wind  died  away  after  that,  and 
all  day  long  we  lay  within  sight  of  him,  tossing  on 
the  sea,  unable  to  get  any  nearer.  At  dusk  a  wind 
caught  us,  and  hurried  us  so  near  that  we  could  see  the 


294  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

lagoon  entrance.  We  dared  not  stand  in,  there  was  sucli 
a  run  of  surf.  We  saw  no  trace  of  man  on  the  island, 
nor  any  ship's  mast  rising  up  over  the  neck  of  land 
which  shut  the  lagoon  from  the  sea. 

"  We  have  come  in  time,"  said  Theo.  "  We  have 
beaten  them." 

When  he  said  that,  dropping  with  weariness  as  I 
was,  I  stood  up  to  stare  at  the  island.  It  was  the  place 
which  had  been  in  my  mind  for  so  long  a  time.  There 
it  was  before  us,  dim  and  blue  and  fast  fading,  a  dark- 
ness flushed  on  its  higher  crags,  and  ringed  with  the 
gleam  of  surf.  And  to-morrow,  I  thought,  we  shall  be 
—  what  ?  Three  poor  forlorn  men  at  the  ends  of  the 
world,  or  —  ?  It  gave  me  awe  to  think  that.  "  And 
there  on  the  island,"  I  thought,  "  even  if  all  that  he 
thinks  be  false,  there  has  been  a  civilisation.  There 
has  been  a  race  which  built  temples  and  made  poems. 
They  looked  out  over  the  sea  here."  I  wondered  if 
any  of  them  ever  thought  that  all  their  splendour  and 
wisdom  would  pass  away  so  utterly  that  a  man  believ- 
ing in  either  would  be  counted  a  madman.  Was  he  a 
madman  ?  The  brain  of  man  holds  marvellous  things. 
Dick,  coming  up  half  drowsed  to  head  the  sloop  away 
from  the  land,  told  me  that  we  should  soon  know  now. 

"  And  if  he  becomes  an  idol,"  said  Dick,  "  and  rules 
the  Indians,  you  and  I'll  ha.ve  happy  days  being 
priests." 

We  went  into  the  lagoon  with  a  brisk  breeze  the 
next  morning,  before  the  sun  was  out  of  the  sea.  I 
had  expected  to  see  some  trace  at  least  of  buildings 


CHARLES  HAEDING'S  STOEY  295 

there.  Instead  of  that  there  was  nothing  but  jungle, 
and  the  traces  of  recent  fires  among  the  scrub. 

"  We're  too  late,  I  guess,"  said  Dick  calmly.  "  The 
scrub's  burnt." 

"  Be  quiet,"  said  Theo.  "  They  have  been  here,  but 
they  may  have  done  no  harm.     Let  go  the  anchor." 

We  went  ashore  there,  all  three  together.  We  went 
through  the  wood  by  a  narrow  track  no  broader  than 
a  horse's  girth.  Swathes  of  dead  creepers  lay  on  each 
side  of  the  track,  where  the  machetes  had  slashed  them 
down.  There  were  footprints  in  the  mud  of  the  path, 
the  marks  of  boot  heels. 

"  These  footprints  were  made  a  week  ago,"  said 
Dick.  "  Eegular  cow-hunters'  boots,  and  one  of  them 
lame  in  the  left  leg.  Doggy  Sam  has  beaten  you. 
Cap." 

"  Be  quiet,"  said  Theo.  "  They  may  have  done  no 
harm.     Come  on." 

Soon  we  had  climbed  the  scree,  and  crossed  the  broken 
ground  of  the  landslide.  Now  Dick  took  me  by  the 
arm  and  pinched  me,  for  a  droning  kind  of  a  pipe 
was  wailing  out  of  the  earth  all  round  me,  changing 
and  roaring  till  the  air  was  full  of  it,  and  then 
dwindling  into  almost  nothing. 

"  There  is  the  whistling,"  said  Theo ;  "  but  we  have 
come  too  late  for  the  rest." 

Down  below  in  a  little  hollow  lay  a  heap  of  broken 
reddish  iron  stones,  scattered  confusedly  into  a  cairn. 
Above  the  cairn  stood  a  cleft  pole,  with  a  tin  plate 
stuck  in  the  cleft.     We  slithered  into  the  valley,  and 


296  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

hauled  down  the  ensign.  There  was  writing  on  it, 
scratched  with  a  knife.  Dick  read  it  out,  while  Theo 
looked  about  among  the  stones. 

"  Captain  Theo,"  it  ran,  "  your  joss-house  is  smash- 
oh.  We  done  it  good  with  kegs  of  powder.  You  was  a 
roten  Cap.     Smash-oh.     We  are  havin  good  times. 

Sam,  mr  mr.     Prins  of  Wals. 

Bill.     Governor  of  Jamaica. 

Charls.     Adml. 

So  long,  you  dago  swot." 

Theo  sat  down  among  the  rubbish,  and  held  out  a 
broken  tablet  which  had  once  been  ingeniously  carved. 
"  The  clock  is  put  back,"  he  said  simply.  "  The  tem- 
ple is  blown  to  pieces.  The  Indians  must  wait,  that  is 
all.     I  am  not  to  be  Manco  Capac." 

"  Cheer  up,"  said  Dick ;  "  it's  not  your  fault." 

"No;  it's  not  my  fault,"  said  Theo.  "But  it  is 
strange.  All  these  months  I  have  felt  that  I  was  di- 
vinely inspired  to  do  this  work  among  the  Indians. 
I  have  felt  that  I  was  the  agent  of  higher  powers.  And, 
after  all  their  help  and  suggestions,  a  fool  with  a  keg  of 
powder  stops  the  work  forever." 

"  He  may  be  an  agent  for  even  higher  powers,"  I 
said. 

"  Maybe,"  said  Dick,  evidently  much  struck  by  my 
remark.  "  But  why  should  he  stop  it  forever  ?  Why 
not  go  on  to  Nicolai  ?  The  temple  was  all  foolishness. 
Put  it  out  of  your  head,  Cap.     We'll  go  on  to  Nicolai 


CHARLES  HARDING'S  STORY         297 

and  be  kings,  like  what  you  said.  We  could  bo  kings 
without  any  temple,  I  guess.  We're  Christians,  teak- 
bound.  We  don't  allow  temples  in  our  religion.  Cheer 
up.  Cheer  up,  man.  We'll  go  on  to  Nicolai  and 
be  kings." 

"  We  cannot  go  on  to  N'icolai,"  said  Theo.  "  Our 
sloop  comes  from  the  log-wood  camps.  If  we  went  near 
the  Lagoon  of  Tides  the  sloop  would  be  recognised.  We 
should  be  hanged  as  pirates." 

"  We  can't  stop  here,"  I  said. 


XXI 

It  was  Dick  who  solved  the  problem. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  the  king  scheme's  done  with.  It 
was  good  while  it  lasted;  it  gave  us  good  fun.  But 
it's  done  with.  Shut  it  out  of  your  head.  Cap.  Mean- 
while, this  stuff  under  our  feet  here  is  iron  ore  worth 
working." 

"  Well  ?  "  I  said. 

"  We'll  sail  for  Jamaica  this  afternoon,"  said  Dick, 
"  as  soon  as  our  water's  filled.  We'll  file  our  claim  to 
the  island,  and  come  back  and  get  to  work." 

"  What  then  ?  "  said  Theo. 

"  Why,"  he  said  cheerily,  "  we'll  get  that  iron  up, 
and  sell  it  to  the  l^avy  Yards.  It'll  be  better  than  smug- 
gling." 

"I  don't  want  anything,"  said  Theo.  "My  life 
ended  when  they  put  the  match  to  the  train." 


298  LOST  ENDEAVOUR 

"  Life  goes  on,"  said  Dick,  shoving  him  ahead  along 
the  path  to  the  lagoon,  "  and  iron  is  twenty  pounds  the 
ton.  You  won't  think  of  no  grief  when  you  got  a  few 
tons  of  iron  on  the  top  of  it.  Pasear,  my  son.  We'll 
sail." 

That  afternoon  we  sailed. 

Y  todas  las  cosas  se  pasan. 
Las  memorias  se  acahan 
Las  linguas  se  cansan. 


THE    END 


PBIITTED    IN    THE    TTNITED    STATES    OF    AMEEIOA 


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Salt  Water  Poems  and  Ballads. 

Twelve  full-page  illustrations  in  color,  and  twenty  in  black  and  white. 
By  Charles  Pears.  Price,  $2.00 

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in  these  days  of  le\dathan  liners,  in  stout-timbered  hulls  with 
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proved  by  the  plays  which  he  has  published  hitherto  — "  The 
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